The Trust Equation
by Inks Inc
Summary: Keeping secrets is the confidence man's bread and butter and Neal Caffrey has always been the consummate con. That is until one Peter Burke came crashing headlong into his life. Can Peter achieve the previously unachievable? Can he teach Neal to trust? Warning: Spanking.
1. Old Habits

Neal slunk into the White Collar Division offices with a stealthy gate, glancing around him furtively. He noted that Jones and Dianna were working steadily at their desks and didn't notice his entrance, which suited him just fine and dandy. Casting a subtle eye to the office of Peter Burke he thanked his lucky stars the elder man wasn't there.

Neal was late. He was _oh so very_ late.

His tardiness made for the third punctuality issue that week, and if Peter found out, he would _not_ be happy. Dropping his bag at his desk, he made his way over to the coffee station in a probably vain attempt to wake himself up a jot.

Sighing in disdain as the machine predictably produced lukewarm brown water; he made his way back to his desk and plopped down behind it, setting to work on the cases that were piled on it, patiently awaiting his attention. For once, he was grateful of the tedious work. It would keep his mind off of…well; it would keep his mind occupied….

Peter entered the communal office area just as he opened his second file of the day and shot him a hard look, clearly indicating that he knew full well that the young CI had not been on his desk when he was supposed to be. Jerking his head silently, he communicated the unspoken command to follow him and stalked through the bull pen at a brisk gate.

Sighing in reluctance, Neal obediently stood and made his way up the stairs after his irate handler already counting down the minutes it would take for the agent to issue his tongue lashing and he could escape. He closed the door behind him as he entered and Peter was taking a seat behind his desk, no need for the whole world to hear Peter's thoughts on his timekeeping.

Wasting no time, Peter leaned forwards on his desk and glared up at the slightly rueful looking Neal.

"What the hell has gotten into you lately Caffrey? This is your third time this week, swanning in and out of here as you please. What do you think this is some kind of holiday camp? Do the rules not apply to you?" the team leader barked.

Neal winced, both at the use of his surname which always spelt trouble, and the clipped tones that the normally placid Peter was using. Plastering on his most winning smile but feeling the now all too familiar strains of exhaustion, he held his hands up in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

"Yes, the rules apply to me, I'm sorry Peter. It won't happen again" he offered simply, hoping that the elder of the two would let it go at that. In hindsight, he would admit that this was a particularly foolish hope.

"Didn't you tell me that it wouldn't happen again, two days ago?" Peter ground out in response, feeling thoroughly fed up with his maddening charges complete disregard for boundaries.

Surprisingly, Neal didn't retort with a witty come back or an extravagant loophole. Instead, he merely dropped his gaze to his shoes and nodded his head, his tousled black locks bobbing slightly as a result.

"Yes, I did" he readily admitted in a soft voice, whilst still conducting his pretty thorough examination of his pristine shoes.

Slightly wrong footed by this immediate admission, Peter floundered for a moment.

"Well, do you have an _explanation_ that you would be so _kind_ as to give, Neal?" he eventually asked in his still agitated tones, starting intently at the shuffling CI in front of him.

"No Sir" the young man replied in the same quiet tone, knowing that Peter expected his people to address him properly when they were in his bad books. Which he clearly was right now.

"I've just…allowed myself to become disorganised, I'll get it together from here on in" he added, looking up slightly before promptly returning his gaze downwards.

Sighing at this obvious misdirection, Peter restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

He cast an appraising eye over his young ward, the results of which quickly elevated his gaze into an x ray stare.

Neal was slightly dishevelled looking; his usually meticulously pressed suit was slightly wrinkled and hung somewhat on his slight frame. Had he lost weight? His usually beaming face, upon close inspection, was rather gaunt and dark circles framed the piercing blue eyes.

Mentally kicking himself for not noticing earlier, Peter addressed the boy in a much softer voice.

"Everything ok with you, Neal? You look a bit…peaky.

The head bobbed up and down immediately.

"I'm fine, I've just been… a bit under the weather" the young CI replied, his dazzling smile once again firmly in place.

Nodding slowly in pretence of acceptance, Peter filed away this additional misdirection. Something was definitely going on with the kid, but he knew from experience if he were to press him when he didn't want to talk, he'd just clam up even tighter.

Sighing, he turned back to the matter at hand. No matter what lovers tiff the boy was having with Sarah, or hysterical fall out with Mozzie, he couldn't break the rules again and again and get away with it.

"You are going to make up all this time you've missed this week. I can't have a part time CI, you are to be here when you're supposed to be here and not when it's convenient for you, that is non negotiable. Is that clear?" he asked, resuming his previously stern tone of voice and watching sadly as Neal winced in response.

"Yes Sir, it's clear" the young man murmured in response.

"Good. You can make it up tonight then; I'm working late as well so I can keep an eye on you. You can budget for an eleven pm finish."

The head snapped up.

"Tonight?" Neal repeated, his face falling heavily.

Rubbing his eyes in irritation, Peter felt twenty years older than he actually was. No one pushed his buttons like this kid.

" _Yes_ Neal, _tonight"_ he answered tersely.

"But….but I have to be…"

"You have to be _where?"_ Peter interjected crossly, not in the mood for Neal's whining.

"I had… plans" Neal answered, somewhat lamely and with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Leaning back in his chair, the elder agent fixed his ward with a piercing glare.

"Oh you had plans did you?" he repeated sternly.

"I had plans too, now that you mention it. I had plans that involved my CI coming to work and doing his job on time and on a daily basis, with some kind of degree of dependability."

"Funny how plans change isn't it?" he added grimly.

Neal had the good sense and grace to look abashed and to drop his borderline sulky gaze.

"You don't get to have your punishment arranged to accommodate your hectic social life, Neal. Besides, a curtailment of your _extracurricular activities_ might just do the trick in getting you to work on time" Peter scolded.

The sad nodding of the tousled head brought the lecture to an end.

"Alright Neal, get back to work and don't let me catch you slacking off today, for your own good. I'll see you later on tonight, I expect you in my office at five to collect some files to work on, is that clear?" Peter concluded.

"Yes Sir" Neal replied quietly, before obeying the get back to work order and making his way back to his desk, his stomach churning with the burgeoning feelings of panic.

The team leader watched him go, feeling the familiar pangs of guilt he always felt when he had cause to discipline his CI. As the usual dilemma of whether or not he'd been too hard on the kid began to rattle around his brain, he reassured himself that the best of course of action had been to nip Neal's extreme tardiness in the bud. Otherwise, Hughes would notice and things would eventually become substantially more complicated.

As the hours passed, the feelings of anxiety that trundled around Neal's body increased. He stared blankly at the reports on his desk, only barely conscious of the fact that when Peter asked for them he wasn't going to be overly impressed with the distinct lack of progress.

When his phone rang, the young man visibly flinched and his heart began to pound. Glancing at the caller ID, he closed his eyes in the childish hope that it would simply go away. When the phone continued to shrill, he reluctantly flicked it open, grateful that Jones and Dianna had since vacated the bull pen.

The cold voice on the other line made his blood stagnate in his veins, as it always did.

"The usual place. Five thirty. Don't be late" it intoned, seemingly indifferent to the effect it had in its recipient.

Glancing at the clock on his desk, Neal saw that it was ten to five. It was ten minutes before Peter expected him to be in his office, and it was forty minutes until the caller expected him to be where he so desperately never wanted to see again. Both parties expected a service from him, a service that would take several hours to discharge.

Grabbing his jacket from his chair, he snapped the phone shut and closed his eyes.

 _I'm sorry Peter_ he murmured to himself as he dashed out of the FBI building, as quickly as possible so as to avoid any interactions with anyone along the way.

The weary Agent Burke entered the last notation on one of a long list of reports and glanced tiredly at his watch. It was quarter past five.

 _Caffrey_ he growled, to no one in particular and stood to gaze out his window in the sky that oversaw all of his people's desks, ready to let a roar out to the suddenly incapable of punctuality, Neal.

When he saw the hasty signs of departure evident on the kid's desk, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

Neal's jacket was gone. His cell that usually lay perched on his surface top was gone. His Fedora was gone.

 _He_ was gone.

Running a hand through his hair, Peter felt the all too familiar anger begin to burn inside him.

Grabbing his phone, he punched in a number with more force than was necessary and waited impatiently for the connection. Barking orders down the phone to the highly affronted lady that worked in the corrections department, he was satisfied when he heard the ping that let him know Neal's tracking data had been transferred to his mobile.

Closing his eyes for a moment in a vain attempt to get a handle on himself, he took in several deep steadying breaths.

 _Hope you're enjoying sitting wherever you are Neal, because it's the last time you're going to be able to comfortably for a long, long time…._

With this grim thought making the rounds through his mind, he stormed out of the federal building with anger dancing in his eyes and a twitch jumping in his palm.

…..

TBC


	2. Revelations

As Peter followed the tracking data that was displaying brightly in front of him, he was more than a little surprised when he wound up outside Neal's home. He'd figured his disobedient CI had gone ahead and taken Sarah to some uppity restaurant or other, or that he was out salivating over some new art unveiling with Mozzie. He shook his slightly in confusion and stared at the impressive manor silently.

Why would Neal risk having his backside thoroughly tanned, just so that he could relax at home?

With this question swimming around in his head he sighed and debated his next move. If the kid was at home and was willing to chance the ramifications of being there when he wasn't supposed to be, chances were, he had company. Company, of the female persuasion.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Peter thought rapidly. He had no desire to embarrass Neal, no matter how angry he was with him. Marching into his apartment when he was potentially in the youthful throws of intimacy, would humiliate him. The elder of the two men would never want that and so he continued to sit and weigh his options.

Deciding at last that he would knock and give Neal the discrete instructions to finish up whatever he was doing and meet him at his car, Peter exited his car purposefully. June was clearly not at home so Peter fished out his set of keys he had long since been given, and nimbly made his way up the many flights of stairs to the kid's apartment.

Knocking briskly, he waited with more patience than he would have thought himself capable of in the circumstances.

No answer.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation and striving to keep his very tenuous cool, he reached out and knocked sharply once more.

No answer.

Leaning his forehead against the cool door, Peter let out a weary groan, before raising his voice so that it could be heard through the irritatingly unyielding door and into the apartment that housed his blood pressure raising CI.

"Neal Caffrey, you have exactly ten seconds to open this door or I'm coming in. It's entirely up to you as to how easy or hard you want to make this."

With that, he stepped smartly back and observed the almost mocking door with intense eyes, fully expecting it to open with the allotted time frame.

Eight seconds. No answer.

 _Waiting till the eleventh hour. Typical Neal._

Six seconds. No answer.

 _Showing off for his girlfriend. Nothing new there._

Four seconds. No answer.

 _Just do as you're god damned told for once, Neal._

Two seconds. No answer.

 _Dear god, please tell me what I have done to deserve the stress this kid causes me._

Zero seconds. No answer.

Feeling what sympathy he had for the CI's ego slip away, Peter angrily, but deftly inserted his key to Neal's apartment into the lock and stormed inside.

To complete darkness.

Reaching instinctively for the light switch, Peter flicked the overheads on and squinted in an attempt to adjust his eyes to the brightness. Glancing around the open planned apartment let him know immediately that Neal wasn't there. Feeling the heavy burden of confusion nestle around his shoulders once more, he glanced at his phone.

According to the top of the range FBI technology, Neal Caffrey was standing or sitting in his living room. Peter couldn't help but cast another hard look around the room, even taking in the gaps under the sofas in case…Neal had fallen and rolled under them or something.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he quickly opened the door of the living room closet in case the kid was hiding and even the secret room behind the mantel piece mirror. Lots of Neal's suits hung there, but no Neal.

Peter rubbed his temples vigorously and did his very best to calm himself down. Clearly, his CI had found some way to manipulate the signal transmitted by his anklet into placing himself at pre approved locations, when he was clearly off on some jaunt into some very _unauthorised_ location. Forcing himself to think like a federal agent, Peter worked through the knowledge he possessed methodically.

Neal was a talented artist and incredibly intelligent, however, when it came to technology he was as mortal as the rest of the general population. He wouldn't have been able to do this on his own.

 _Mozzie…_ Peter growled into the room, uncaring that he was essentially snarling at himself.

Sweeping from the room and slamming the door behind him, the agent essentially galloped down the stairs and made it back to his car in a time span more in keeping with his baseball days than his civil servant era.

As his car squealed into the fifth haunt that the "little guy" frequented, Peter finally struck gold. There, propped up at the artisan bar with a heinously expensive glass of wine, sat Neal's partner in crime chatting animatedly to a group that Peter could only deduce were off duty extras from some kind of sci-fi movie.

Striding up to the poorer than poor influence on his impressionable criminal informant, Peter rapped Mozzie none too gently on the shoulder. The moderately eccentric man turned around and groaned when he saw who his assailant was.

"Hello suit" he greeted a glowering Peter, in glum tones.

" _Hello Mozzie_ " replied Peter, his voice laden with such anger that the conspiracy theorists eyes widened perceptibly.

"I'd like a private word with you please, right now" the agent growled, and for once Mozzie took heed.

"Beat it guys" he threw over his shoulder at the oddly clad gaggle behind him, which they did with much muttering about overt surveillance and satellite imaging.

Sitting down on the bar stool beside the apprehensively staring Mozzie, Peter shot him a hard look before getting straight down to the point, in typical Agent Burke fashion.

"I know you've tampered with Neal's tracking anklet. I know the data is being manipulated. I know that this has probably been going on for quite a while. I know that you know that there is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. What I _don't_ know however, is _where_ Neal is. This is where you come in, because if you want to keep him _out_ of jail, you better start talking to me."

Mozzie predictably spluttered in an attempt at indignation whilst at the same time, his mind whirring into overdrive as he strained himself to find a way out from under the suits startling omniscience.

"If you were really as good a friend to Neal as you think you are, you wouldn't risk his freedom like this Mozzie. Neal has no impulse control, but you do. You know better. You're putting his deal in danger. You're putting _him_ in danger; you know he couldn't cope with prison again. If you're ok with that, well…then there's not much I can do."

"If you're not, then you need to reverse whatever the hell it is you did to the tracker so I can find him" Peter concluded in a much quieter tone, searching the balding man's face intently for any signs of his words hitting home.

He found them. The frown and slight twitching of the man beside him let him know that his speech had resonated with him.

"It'll take a few moments" he murmured fishing his overly complicated phone from his pocket.

Peter merely gave a stiff nod and watched in silence as Mozzie committed various felonies right under his nose, in hacking into both Neal's anklet and the national database housing the receiving information, at the same time.

Eventually, Peter's phone pinged and Neal's true location bleeped up from the screen. Frowning, the agent recognised the address. It was a block of disused and run down warehouses, that was within the kid's radius.

"Why is he there and why had he gone to so much trouble to _hide_ the fact that he's there when it's in his radius?" Peter demanded of the seemingly nonplussed Mozzie.

"I don't know" the short man answered immediately.

Quailing somewhat under the ferocious glare that was levelled at him, he held his hands up defensively.

"I don't _know_ suit, I don't. Neal told me he wanted to…well, _blur_ the lines of his tracking data so he could take Sarah away on weekends and umm...you know live life a little more freely, I didn't know he wanted it for any specific purpose."

As the tidal wave of Neal's careful deception washed over him, Peter felt himself flinch. He was angry as hell, sure. But if he was honest with himself, he was also pretty hurt. He'd honestly thought he'd been making some headway with the stubborn kid lately; apparently he'd been oh so very wrong.

Throwing one last furious look at the unusually guilty looking Mozzie, Peter stormed out of the niche bar and threw himself back into his car in a growing temper. Following the directions of Neal's tracking data; he screeched the car into gear and careered out of the parking lot.

As he drove, he mentally ran through the likely reasons his soon to be very uncomfortable charge would be secretly holed up in a dungeon like warehouse.

As he pulled into the dismal and drab looking abandoned buildings lot, he quickly deduced that Neal was located in the middle property. Killing the engine, he stepped out of the car and for some reason, he instinctively drew his weapon.

Creeping up to the one window the dilapidated building housed, he cautiously glanced through it.

When he began to feel his vision swoon in and out of focus and the bile race up through his windpipe as the nausea overtook him, he crouched down and put his head in hands. Taking in deep racking breaths he quickly gained composure of himself and began to draw on his extensive training and experience.

As he carefully snuck another glance in the window again, he saw the man who had a gun trained at Neal's head issue another searing punch into his CI's chest. He saw Neal buckle over in pain and nod his head frantically in obvious agreement with something his abuser had said.

He watched in horror as Neal began to carefully yet somewhat manically, sculpt some miniature statue, which he couldn't quite make out. As he snuck a glance around the perimeter of the room he saw that there were boxes and boxes of the small sculptures, all clearly owing their existence to Neal's talented hand.

Spying a slightly ajar door, Peter saw his advantage. Slipping through it and being grateful for his relatively lithe physique, he was in the room without having made a sound. He was afforded secretion by a large pillar that hid his entire frame. Raising his firearm and pulling his credentials out, he took a deep breath and strode into the centre of the room.

The tall and well muscled tormentor of his CI immediately rested his gun on Peter's torso as he announced himself as a federal agent. The agent himself barely had time to register the look of relief and wonder that had crossed Neal's face as he had stepped out of the room's shadows.

Keeping his arm steady, Peter calmly instructed the man whose head he itched to rip off to lower his weapon and informed him there was extensive back up on the way. Which of course was a blatant lie, but the calm exterior of the seasoned agent pulled it off without a hitch. The man after obviously considering his options reluctantly placed the gun on the floor and kicked it over to an awaiting Peter obediently.

Throwing his handcuffs at the thug with disgust, the white collar team leader watched carefully as he snapped them securely around his wrists. Keeping his gun trained in a defensive poise, Peter quickly strode over to the man and efficiently searched him. No further weapons were found.

Stepping back and looking into the man's face for a brief moment, Peter holstered his weapon. Before he could even think about what he was doing, and being unable to remove the image of Neal gasping in pain at the hands of the unknown person before him, he drew back his fist and landed it squarely in the middle of the man's face, with a nearly inhuman force.

He dropped to the floor instantly.

Nodding in satisfaction, Peter rushed over to the speechless Neal and crouched down before him.

Resting a hand on each of the kid's knees he stared up at him in anguish.

"What in the world is going on here Neal?" he eventually managed to whisper.

When Neal merely continued to look at his with a bewildered expression on his face, Peter's heartbeat quickened further.

"Neal, please…please talk to me. What the hell is happening?" Peter asked, hearing the note of frantic pleading in his own voice.

Jerking out his silent stupor somewhat, Neal tilted his head somewhat at the panicking man stooped in front of him.

"You came for me" he said simply, but with a note of confusion colouring his speech.

"What?" Peter replied softly, albeit running his hand through his hair in frustration at the lack of information.

"No one's ever come for me" the kid responded, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Finally understanding what Neal was saying, Peter felt the familiar anger he had felt about the world's treatment of the brilliant young man before him. Squeezing the kid's right knee slightly, he sighed slightly before answering.

"Well get used to it buddy, you're pretty much stuck with me" he murmured reassuringly.

He tactfully pretended not to notice as very faint tears sprang up in the piercing blue eyes in response.

"Now, please tell me what is happening here Neal. I can't help, if I don't know" Peter instructed, a firm note entering into his voice.

Nodding his head, Neal took a deep breath before responding.

"That guy" he began, jerking his head towards the slumped figure lying a few feet from them "he's…from my past. I used to steal on assignment for him and his gang"

With Peter's encouraging nod, the young man closed his eyes and continued.

"He therefore knows…things about me, things I've done that you don't know about. He threatened to expose me if I didn't forge ancient Aztec artefacts for him as part of his latest scam. It was supposed to be a once off, but then…it wasn't. I couldn't see a way out. I couldn't go to Mozzie for help because…well, he knows things about him too and I couldn't risk dragging him into it. He's…well, he's not the nicest guy in the world. He enjoys inflicting pain. He's known as Sadist Sam in less desirable circles. And, well….he definitely doesn't like _me."_

With this, the tousled head dropped slightly and Neal adverted his gaze to the floor.

Peter was just about ready to throw up. Right there and then. The thoughts of what had been happening to Neal right under his nose made the lining of his stomach shrivel up and die. Reaching up, he very gently unbuttoned the top two buttons of the kid's shirt. Neal flinched, but didn't pull away.

As he expected, the boy's torso was completely covered with a variance of fresh and healing bruises. Feeling the familiar bile prick the back of his throat, Peter spluttered on his own air intake for a moment. Trying valiantly to pull himself together, he cast an experienced eye over the injuries in front of him.

"Do you think you can walk to the car buddy?" he asked very gently.

Neal nodded immediately, and Peter gingerly placed one of the kid's arms around his shoulders and hoisted him as carefully as possible to his feet.

"Lean all your weight on me now, there's a good lad" he instructed quietly and was relieved when Neal obeyed without question. Very deftly Peter guided him from the building and all the way out to the car. Placing him softly into the passenger seat, he rested a hand on his head for a moment and knelt down in front of him.

"I will be back in a few minutes Neal, you do not move from this car, under any circumstances, you understand?"

"Where are you going?" came the immediate reply.

"Neal, you do not leave this car, do you understand me?" Peter repeated, his stern tones making an appearance once more.

When the dark head bobbed up and down in agreement, he ruffled his hair gently and closed the passenger door. Squaring his shoulders and feeling a burning rage run rampage through him, he strode swiftly back into the warehouse.

Sam was still in the same position as he had left him, but he was fully alert. Reaching the man, Peter leant down and dragged him extremely roughly, to his feet. Quickly unlocking and removing the handcuffs, he stood and watched quietly as the man reached up immediately to rub his throbbing face.

Peter allowed him to soothe his wound for as long as it took and the man dropped his hand.

Then, Peter calmly drew his fist back, and punched him squarely in the jaw. For the second time.

And then, again and again.

Blocking with ease the shots the piece of filth tried to return, Agent Burke systematically landed blow after blow on the cretin that had inflicted so much pain on Neal. When the man eventually fought no more and sat slumped in the floor, with his hands raised in defeat, Peter crouched down beside him.

The bully cringed when he saw the fire that blazed in this mysterious mans eyes.

Speaking quietly and levelly, and taking great care in making sure each word he spoke was enunciated to pitch prefect precision, the agent leant into the petrified mans personal space.

"You are going to leave town tonight. You will never, in your natural born life set foot in DC again. You will take whatever stock you have here and you will do whatever the hell you like with it. You will never speak of what transpired here tonight. You will never speak of Neal or Mozzie again. You will forget you ever met either of them. You will do each and every one of these things, is that clear?"

The manic shaking of the head in front of him engendered a Peter Burke "gut" feeling that he would never see or hear from this poor excuse of a human again.

Always cautious however, he leant further into the man's personal space once more.

"If I ever and I do mean _ever,_ find out you've been within a hairs whisper of my boy again, I will destroy you. Understand?"

One look at this intense agent wiped any thoughts of breathing the same air of Neal Caffrey again, far from the man's mind and he once again nodded frantically in agreement.

Satisfied, Peter stood and instructed the vermin that he had one hour to completely vacate the building and remove all traces of evidence with him and informed him that he would be sending a patrol car to check in exactly sixty minutes.

With that, Agent Burke straightened his tie and turned on his heel making his way back to his car, once again anxious as to the state of Neal's health.

Slipping into the driver's seat, he quickly started the car and drove away from the warehouse as fast as possible, never wanting Neal to be any closer to the place than was physically possible again.

"Peter" Neal began in obvious confusion. "Where is the team?"

"The team, Neal?" Peter answered in equal confusion.

"Didn't you call for backup? How can you arrest him when he's left on his own?"

Turning slightly, Peter considered his answer carefully.

"I couldn't call for backup buddy, because then he would have talked about whatever he knows to cut himself a deal and you and Mozzie would be in a world of trouble. I…took care of it. You won't _ever_ be hearing from him again, I promise you."

Neal's eyes grew wide as he took in the scraped knuckles of his handler and his slightly breathless demeanour.

"Peter…you don't believe in violence" he stated simply, shock causing his voice to waver slightly.

"Not generally, no. But, there are…exceptions."

"Exceptions?" Neal repeated questioningly.

"When it comes to the people you care about, and ensuring they're safe, and healthy against a threat" Peter replied quietly.

Silence ensued for a moment, as the kid digested this information.

"Where are we going?" Neal asked, in an attempt to cover up the again faint tears that clung to his eyes, which Peter once again tactfully pretended not to notice.

"The hospital, you need to be checked out, some of those bruises look nasty."

"Peter that's not necessary, I'm fine" the young man said immediately.

"Don't argue Neal, it's happening" Peter said firmly.

The familiar tone suddenly jerked Neal's mind into overdrive.

"Peter…uhh, how did you find me?" he asked tentatively.

Turning a grim face to his incorrigible charge, he arched an eyebrow silently in response.

"Mozzie" the chagrined man said quietly, answering his own question.

Peter nodded in the affirmative, but didn't offer a verbal response.

Peeking up through his dark eyelashes, Neal twisted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat.

"Am I in trouble?" he inquired, in what he hoped was a strong and manly tone. He of course cringed when it predictably came out as a pleading whine.

"What do you think?" the agent answered grimly, feeling the familiar strains of anger as he thought of all the danger and pain the boy had been put through because he hadn't come to him. That, on top of all his various deceptions, made the answer the CI spoke softly, all the more predictable.

"I think I'm in trouble."

"Got in one buddy" came the surprisingly gentle reply.

"I'm sorry Peter" croaked Neal, earnestly and with sincerity ringing in every syllable.

Nodding his head immediately, the team leader gave the kid a small smile.

"I know you are Neal, I know you are. Don't worry about all that now, but don't dare misunderstand me either, we _will_ be having a very long _chat_ soon. Right now though, my main concern is making sure that you're ok and having you checked out, ok?"

"Really? You usually would have worn me out by now."

Snorting somewhat at the accuracy of this statement, Peter nodded in agreement.

"True, but in the circumstances as they stand right now I probably wouldn't even care if you were the one that pulled that ridiculous prank on Organised Crime last month" he replied evenly.

When he caught the sudden flush of the kid's face and his equally sudden intense interest in the passing scenery, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and regretted the rash assurances of prank based acceptance he had just made.

"Damn it Neal!"

…

TBC


	3. Pillow Talk

Peter studied the face of the mildly exasperated looking doctor intently, drinking in every word the young man was saying as if it was the most important information he could ever hope to receive.

"So, as I've explained already Agent Burke, the bruising is more superficial in nature than anything else. The majority of it is in the latter stages of the healing process. As for the fresher injuries, a good night's sleep and some painkillers, and he'll be just fine, ok?"

Peter felt himself nodding but couldn't help but reassure himself once more.

"You're sure? You're absolutely sure that he doesn't need to be admitted or anything?"

The young doctor bit his lip in an effort to keep from rolling his eyes at the overprotective man in front of him.

"I'm positively _positive_ that he doesn't need to be admitted. There is nothing whatsoever fundamentally wrong with him, he's just fine."

Finally satisfied, Peter thanked the doctor and hurried back to Neal's side. The criminal informant was nearly asleep in a waiting room chair and the elder man had to nudge him quite a bit before he fully woke up.

"Time to go Neal, the doctor says you're fine. You just need to get a good night's rest and take some painkillers" he informed the dozing man gently.

Expecting this answer Neal nodded and jumped up from his seat and headed towards the exit earnestly.

He hated hospitals. With a passion.

Thirty minutes later saw Peter shepherding the young CI into his living room, and flicking on the lights and heating as he did so. Ushering him gently towards the couch, he issued strict instructions to sit and not move until he returned.

As he tottered back into the living room armed with a hot cup of tea and two aspirin, he watched silently as Neal obediently gulped the medication down and took a grateful swig of the steaming hot drink. He saw the sleep gather in the brilliantly blue eyes once more, and as soon as the last mouthful of tea had been consumed he began to usher the weary Neal up to the guest room.

Well, it _was_ the guest room. The young reforming con had spent so many nights there it was quickly becoming _Neal's_ room. A fact which El loved to tease him about, knowing full well her husband's gruff exterior with his wilful charge was mostly a front.

As he gently pushed and prodded a scowling Neal up the stairs, who issued dire murmurings that he was more than capable of seeing himself to bed, Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation. He waited patiently outside the bedroom door as Neal quickly changed into his nightclothes, of which there was quite a supply in the previously empty wardrobe.

Hearing the soft "come in now" waft through the walls, Peter peeked round the door. Now dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and looking about five years younger in the process, Neal was clearly dead on his feet. Quickly pulling back the covers of the bed, he gently guided the now overcome by sleep kid into it. Ignoring the very half hearted protests that he didn't need all this fussing, the elder of the two drew the blankets up around the nearly asleep young man.

Satisfied that the kid was as warm and comfortable as possible, Peter ruffled Neal's hair one last time and turned to leave the room. He was however effectively stopped from doing so by a low murmur that even his pitch perfect ears had to strain to hear.

"Peter? Could you sit here…just for a while.. please."

Peter turned and saw a deep flush begin to spread across Neal's cheeks as he looked at him with those golden retriever eyes of his. Cursing himself for not thinking of providing the obvious comfort himself, he nodded his head immediately and quickly settled himself on the edge of the bed.

"Course I can buddy" he soothed quietly, knowing that Neal would never admit the fact he was emotionally vulnerable after his ordeal. As the seasoned agent thought of the low life that had put his ward through so much turbulence, he felt his jaw tighten with almost painful force.

"How're you doing?" he asked kindly, surveying the boys face for any clues as to how he was feeling. All he could see was exhaustion and the anger flared in his stomach once more.

 _If I ever see that animal again…._ he thought to himself viciously.

"I'm ok" Neal murmured sleepily, looking up at his handler fondly. His eyes widened a fraction suddenly and he looked more alert, causing Peter to eye him anxiously.

"What is it kid?" he inquired, trying to keep the urgency from his tone.

Neal looked away for a moment and took a deep breath before answering.

"Are you still angry with me?" he said quietly, managing to squirm somewhat even given his bed based position.

Observing the clearly guilt ridden kid for a moment, Peter sighed slightly.

As relieved as he was that Neal was ok and as sympathetic as he was for the suffering he had been put through, he _couldn't_ deny that he _was_ still angry. Very angry. If Neal had just come to him, none of this would have happened to him. He could have prevented this.

Clearly knowing what the elder man was thinking, Neal let out a sad little sigh of his own.

"I know Peter. I know I should have come to you" he said softly, his big blue eyes oozing sincerity as he spoke.

Resting a hand on the kid's shoulder, Peter nodded his head sadly.

"Yes Neal, you should have. I would have protected you from whatever threat that piece of filth was holding over you. I thought you would have known that by now."

He couldn't keep the hurt from his voice, as much as he tried. It forced it's way into his speech and made its presence known, if the look of remorse that shot across the boy's face was anything to go by.

"I'm sorry" Neal muttered miserably, looking up at Peter beseechingly.

"I _do_ trust you, you know I do. It's just….I'm used to sorting things out for myself is all" he added in a sad voice.

Peter considered this for a moment and admitted there was a grain of reason to the kid's logic.

Neal had been left to fend for himself at a young age. He had coped marvellously well. He was quick thinking, intelligent and resourceful. Combine that with the fact that he had had to rely on himself to such an extent, he honestly didn't _know_ how to rely on other people.

 _I'm going to change that, if it kills me_ he thought to himself determinedly, before addressing the saddened looking young man looking up at him.

"I know you are Neal. I also know that you're used to depending entirely on yourself, but you don't have to do that anymore. Don't you see that?"

Staring up at his handler, Neal gave a tentative nod in agreement, but Peter knew his mannerisms well enough now to know that something was still playing on his unusual mind.

"What is it Neal?" he asked softly.

Closing his eyes for a brief second, the young man drew in a deep breath.

"Why? Why do you care so much about me?" he replied, in a voice of such confusion that if Burke men were to cry, it would have brought a tear to the older man's eye.

Fervently wishing El were here, to guide him through this _feelings_ business, Peter cast around his head for an explanation that would translate his own feelings adequately into words.

Deciding to go with the simple truth, he too took a deep breath before answering and prayed that he wasn't overstepping the mark, or blurring the boundaries.

"Because you're exactly what I've always imagined my own son would be like if El and I had ever been lucky enough to have one, Neal. _That's_ why I care so much. You _mean_ that much to me. To us."

Neal gaped at him for a long time and Peter waited patiently for the young man to find his own words. He was surprised by the fact that he wasn't at all embarrassed by his admission to his young charge, it felt…natural.

An astounded Neal finally regained control of his vocal chords.

"I am?" he practically whispered.

Nodding his head in reply, Peter looked at him fondly.

"You are. Well, I would have hoped that you would have opted for a more _socially acceptable_ path than you have done if you had been, but yes, you are. El would have ensured you would be wrapped up in all that _art_ stuff you both love, and I would have genetically ensured you'd be as dashingly good looking as you are."

Neal snorted derisively at the last part; causing Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Get it now?" he asked quietly.

Nodding his head immediately, Neal looked more relaxed than Peter had seen him in a long time and this small fact caused some of the stress pit that he felt to melt away immediately.

"I get it" the young miscreant said softly, a sincere smile playing around his lips.

Ruffling his hair in response, Peter grinned when the kid shot him a look of annoyance.

"Good, because you know how I hate to repeat myself" he said good naturedly.

"That'll be the messiah complex" Neal answered cheekily, grinning broadly.

Glaring at the incorrigible young man, Peter arched an eyebrow in a half hearted attempt at annoyance.

"Watch it you, you're in enough trouble as it is, don't forget."

Something about the semi strict tone the elder of the two was now using caused Neal to grimace suddenly.

"You're still going to tear me a new one tomorrow aren't you?" he asked meekly, pulling out the all the stops in transforming his eyes into large pools of ocean blue misery.

"Sure am" Peter answered immediately, he had no intention of letting what had happened slide. No matter how much headway he'd just made with his young ward.

Rolling over onto his back, Neal stared at the ceiling moodily.

"Great, that'll be like… my _third_ strapping in under two months" he muttered sulkily.

Rolling his eyes at the pouting expression currently contorting the kids face, Peter sighed slightly.

"I'm not going to strap you, Neal" he said firmly, much more firmly than he actually felt.

He had made his decision as to how he was going to deal with the kid, and Neal was _not_ going to like it.

Not one bit.

He steeled himself to answer the quizzical look Neal shot him.

"I'm going to spank you instead."

Neal opened his mouth instantly to protest. He positively _despised_ being put over Peter's knee for a spanking. Although the sting of the elder mans belt was nothing to desire, bending over the dining room table carried with it a certain retention of the young con's dignity. Being upended over his handler's knee on the other hand, most certainly did _not._

Peter cut him off.

"I'm _going_ to spank you instead, whether you approve or not. Furthermore, I'm going to spank you, before bed, every single night for a week. You see Neal, you're grounded. Seven days. You'll be serving it here; El's away so there's more than enough room. Starting tomorrow."

Neal let out a strangled yelp, and struggled to find the words that would express his feelings on the horrendously unfair sentence that Peter had just handed down.

Expecting this outraged response, the elder of the two waited patiently for Neal's brain to catch up with his ears.

"You can't _do_ that" the young man eventually spluttered, his face screwed up in indignation.

"Oh I think you'll find I can" Peter responded calmly.

Neal sat up bolt upright in the bed, nearly causing the perched agent to fall off of it.

"Peter" he began in a tone that the older man knew to be his "you're being unreasonable voice."

"Can it, Neal" he interjected firmly.

"You were totally out of line; you knowingly put yourself in needless and heedless danger. You've _also_ been lying to me by omission for weeks. You blatantly tampered with your anklet. You wilfully disobeyed me, do I even need to go on?" he found himself thundering, wanting to put a swift end to the kid's tantrum before it could gain momentum.

Neal drew his knees up to his chest, and rested his chin on them as he pondered Peter's stern speech. He found himself squirming somewhat when he realised he couldn't refute a single one of the elder mans hard hitting conclusions.

"Peter…" he therefore heard himself whining, reverting to mitigation tactics seeing as he was without an adequate defensive strategy and all.

"Neal, I'm _more_ than willing to take you out of that bed right this second, put you straight over my knee and make seven spankings turn into eight. If that's what you'd prefer?" the tired man interrupted sternly.

Shaking his head immediately, the morose kid sighed heavily.

"No thanks" he muttered meekly.

"Didn't think so" Peter chuckled, earning himself a glare in the process.

Softening at the mutinous look on his charges face, he rested a comforting hand on Neal's knee.

"Look, I know it might seem harsh but you've really outdone yourself this time. You could have been _killed_ Neal. I simply will _not_ have you repeating this mistake again. If an unpleasant week is what it takes for you to learn that, then so be it. I've made up my mind and it's not changing, so how about you make it easier on both of us and try not to work yourself up, ok?"

Contemplating this for a brief moment, Neal decided to accept the virtues of Peter's short speech and nodded his head in agreement. Albeit in a mildly sulky agreement.

"Could you at least not chew me out tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.

"No can do Neal, we're going to be having a _very_ long discussion about the ins and outs of right and wrong and how that applies to your behaviour these past few weeks, is that clear?"

Groaning, the hard done by criminal informant flung himself back down on his side with an intense sigh and stared ahead of him with an expression that just screamed "miscarriage of justice."

"Great, glad that's settled" Peter said, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

He was unsuccessful.

" _Quit it_ " Neal muttered waspishly, shooting a glare at his handler.

Raising his hands in surrender, Peter smiled genially.

"Quitting, quitting" he placated cheerily.

Neal rolled his eyes but couldn't help laughing fondly at the lengths Peter would go to in an attempt to make him feel better.

Deciding it was time that the kid got some rest; the handler stood and crouched down beside the bedside of his incorrigible ward.

"Look Neal, I can't promise that I'll be your favourite person by the end of this week, but I _can_ promise I'm doing what's best for you, is that fair enough buddy?"

Neal gave a sleepy nod and smiled his agreement at a heartily relieved Peter.

Giving the boy's hair one last affectionate tousle, Peter stood to leave.

"Good lad Neal, I'll see you tomorrow then, now get some sleep."

Another half awake nod was proffered and the elder man strode quietly from the room, flicking out the lights as he did so.

He made his way wearily down the hall to his and El's room and fell onto his own bed and sighed.

It was going to be a _long_ week.

…

TBC


	4. Monday's Child is Fair of Face

Neal sat slumped in his desk chair and sulked openly. The team had no active cases and were therefore resigned to cold ones. Jones and Dianna worked studiously at their desks and he rolled his eyes at their diligence. Glancing down at the mortgage fraud case that lay open on his desk and that he had despised on sight, he made up his mind to slip out for a little coffee from his favourite cart.

No one would notice.

As he made his escape, he saw Jones catch him in his peripheral vision. The agent merely rolled his eyes at their residents CI's childishness and went back to his own files.

Smirking, Neal continued in his path, and made it as far as the glass panelled doors.

Before crashing headlong into an entering Peter. Damn, why didn't he see that he wasn't in his office.

Eying the very sheepish looking criminal informant intently, the elder agent correctly surmised he was in the midst of some kind of foolhardy escape attempt.

Did he honestly think the rest of them _liked_ cold cases?

Sighing heavily, Peter fixed the squirming Neal with a glare before speaking quietly to him, so that only he could hear.

"Neal, do I _really_ need to remind you of what your plans are for tonight?"

As the frantic shaking of the young man's head answered, he suppressed a grin.

"Didn't think so" he answered, before gently propelling the attempted escapee back to his desk.

As Neal pouted up at him from his resumed place in his chair, Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Pointing to the clearly neglected batch of files, he pulled his features into his "Neal face", as El had irritatingly dubbed his now habitual cross expression.

"I want these done before we leave tonight, clear?"

When the sulky jerk of the tousled head answered him, Peter softened.

Like he always did when Neal was in any way unhappy.

Damn kid.

"I know its boring buddy, but it has to be done. The quicker you finish, the quicker we can grab dinner from that heinous sushi place you like. Deal?"

The blue eyes brightened instantly and this time the nodding of the head was in happiness.

Snorting at how easily the boy was pleased, Peter set off towards his own office.

Hours passed and the team leader descended from his office and issued instructions for everyone to go home. He was pleased to see, as he bid goodnight to Jones and Dianna, that Neal's allocated files were neatly completed.

"Come on then, let's go get food poisoning" he groaned in mock hysteria, as Neal snorted his contempt at Peter's hopeless lack of sophistication.

More time elapsed, and the two were soon lounging in the living room, having had a dinner that Peter wouldn't even offer Satchmo. As Peter felt tiredness prick his eyes in the middle of the game, he glanced at his watch.

It was ten thirty. He stifled a groan as he resolved to get what was coming over and done with.

Reaching for the remote, he flicked off the television and cast a glance at the sprawled Neal, who looked at him in alarm.

"Peter, I was watching that" he protested vehemently, causing the older man to chuckle.

The kid _hated_ sports and had spent most of the game whining about how boring it was.

He had to admire his stalling tactics.

"Nice try Neal, up you go. I'll be up in a few minutes, ok?" he said gently.

The young man looked at him in full blown Beagle puppy sadness.

"But I'm not _tired"_ he wheedled.

"Bed, Neal."

"But I'm _hungry"_ he whined.

"Bed, Neal."

"But I'm _thirsty"_ he lamented.

Beginning to lose patience, Peter glared at the pantomiming kid.

"Neal, right now, you're getting a hand spanking. But by all means, be my guest and keep it up. I'm sure El still has that wooden spoon lying around somewhere."

He didn't even have to wait for a response, the last thing he saw before he blinked was the back of the kid's head as he scampered out of the living room and up the stairs.

Snorting somewhat, Peter heaved himself out his chair and began to tidy up the various downstairs rooms. He definitely wasn't looking forward to what he was about to do.

As he put away the last few bits and pieces into their respective places in the kitchen, he sighed.

Grabbing a tray, he quickly amassed a drink and a snack for the pouting Neal.

Well, what if he really _was_ hungry and thirsty and Peter sent him to bed anyway?

El would flat out kill him.

Sighing at himself and at how both his wife and CI had him wrapped around their little fingers, he flicked out the lights and set off upstairs, balancing the tray precariously as he did so.

Nudging open the once-upon-a-time guest room door, he saw Neal was sat sulking on his bed, dressed in an oversized t-shirt that swallowed him up and a pair of sweats.

Plopping the tray down on the bedside table, Peter took a seat on the side of the bed.

"You ok, Neal?" he asked softly.

He wanted the kid to be nervous of the spanking he had coming and do everything he could not to wind up in the same position again, but he definitely didn't want him to be afraid.

Understanding the loaded question, his CI nodded his head immediately.

"I'm ok Peter. I mean…this sucks and all, but I'm fine" he answered honestly.

Giving an answering nod of his own head, the elder man eyed the boy fondly but with a stern expression.

"I know it sucks, but well, it's _supposed_ to suck. So how about we get this one over and done with?"

Sighing as if he had just been delegated the task of organising the next United Nations convention, Neal nodded and obediently got to his feet, shuffling over to Peter's side.

Scooting back further onto the bed so as to be able to support his miscreant's weight, Peter, seeing no point in delaying the inevitable, reached out and took a firm hold of Neal's wrist.

Guiding the groaning boy over his knee, so that his torso was resting on the bed beside him, the elder man closed his eyes warily.

Reaching down and swiftly pulling Neal's sweats and boxers to his knees, and magnanimously pretending not to hear the vicious muttering that was going on underneath his CI's breath, he wrapped a firm arm around his waist.

He knew he was being a bit harsh, he generally always gave the kid a warm up over his clothing, but when he weighed up all the various transgressions the reforming con had pulled, he knew he needed this set of lessons to stick.

Without further adieu, he brought down the first of many swats across the bared backside. The sound echoed around the otherwise silent room. Neal let out a predictable hiss in response, clearly lamenting the very early loss of his pants.

Peter didn't lecture as he brought his hand down heavily again and again on the upturned rear. Neal's pale bottom was quickly turning a dusty shade of pink under the elder mans seasoned hand.

The young ex-ish con was for his part, beginning to drop his "manly" acceptance of his punishment, and was starting to squirm slightly across his handler's knee. Peter, anticipating this, calmly held the boy tighter to him and dropped his hand down to address the CI's sit spots.

At this, Neal let out his first whimper and the first pooling of tears sprang up in his eyes.

Feeling his headaches yelp of distress, Peter closed his eyes against the guilt that lapped up against him. He positively _hated_ spanking Neal. Every whimper, wince and "please stop" always tore at his heart.

Stiffening his resolve, he continued deepening the shade of red that was currently adorning his reprobate's backside. As Neal began to cry loudly, he knew the spanking wasn't far away from its close, and for this he was grateful.

Tipping the chastened boy forward slightly, he lit a fire across the exposed and already reddened sit spots and felt Neal's torso go limp against him and heard the loud sobbing transcend into quiet sobbing.

Having already amassed an extensive experience pool of disciplining Neal, he knew that this was an indication that the kid had had enough and that the spanking was at an end.

Speaking for the first time, Peter nevertheless resolved to make sure the lesson had hit home.

"Why are you being punished Neal?" he asked in a firm voice, that belied his true feelings of sympathy and guilt.

Neal took a minute to compose himself and Peter waited patiently.

"Because I…*sniff*…I didn't come to you. I lied…I tampered with my anklet" came the stuttering response in a hitched voice.

Peter nodded approvingly, but to Neal's dismay, issued another volley of firm swats across his scorching backside.

"And what else?" the elder man prodded sternly.

Struggling to think through his haze of tears, Neal suddenly found the light bulb moment Peter was waiting for.

"I p-put myself in danger…by, *hiccough* by not coming to you" the young man supplied.

He yelped as another batch of stinging swats landed on his smarting rear.

"Yes. Don't you _ever_ do that again Neal, because this spanking will feel like an all inclusive cruise compared to what will happen if you do. Is that clear?"

" _Y-yes_ Peter" the choked response came instantly, and the older of the two immediately removed his hand from the ruby red backside and placed it on the small of his still sobbing, albeit quietly, CI's back.

The team leader stayed stock still and allowed the emotional young man to completely cry himself out over his knee.

Rubbing his back gently, he tried valiantly to suppress the feelings of self loathing that _he_ was the one who had caused his incorrigible informant such pain.

"Shh buddy, it's ok. I got you, I got you…you did great…it's all over now, all over" he soothed softly.

A few minutes passed, and with every reassurance that came from the older man, the crying from the younger man subsided somewhat. Eventually there was just the odd sniffle and snuffle, and seemingly aware for the first time that he was still upended over his handler's knee, Neal made to stand up.

As he yanked up his boxers and sweats to their original position, letting out an involuntary yelp in the process, Neal looked at Peter through watery blue eyes.

"I'm sorry Peter, I really am" he croaked.

Smiling genially, the agent merely opened his arms and chuckled when the kid lost no time in launching himself into them.

The two of them stayed seated on the bed in that embrace for quite a while, Peter holding the boy tightly to him and praising his acceptance of his punishment.

Eventually Neal pulled away and smiled ruefully.

"Any chance I get a rain check on the rest of the week?" he inquired hopefully.

Rolling his eyes, Peter ruffled the resilient kid's hair.

"Not a chance buddy, nice try though" he reprimanded gently.

Suddenly spotting the tray with a glass of his favourite low fat soya milk and the artisan cookie that accompanied it, Neal raised an eyebrow at the suddenly sheepish looking Peter.

"Worried El would flay you if I told her you sent me to bed when there was a possibility I was hungry or thirsty?" he surmised cheekily.

Scowling in mock annoyance, Peter nodded before letting out a chuckle.

"Yes, basically. So shut up and eat it" he responded in feigned annoyance and with an eye roll.

Laughing, Neal did as he was told and the two were soon immersed in conversation about the upcoming joint FBI/CIA taskforce that they were hoping to be involved with.

An hour or so later, the young man let out an involuntarily yawn and Peter saw the sleep that resided in the brilliantly blue eyes.

"Time to sleep" he instructed firmly, gently taking a hold of a relatively compliant Neal and lifting up from the bed so he could pull back the covers.

The young CI clambered into it gingerly, and winced heavily as his backside made inevitable contact with the soft mattress.

"You're a brute you know" he muttered in a half hearted attempt at waspishness.

"Yeah yeah" Peter murmured distractedly as he pulled the covers up over his already half asleep rogue.

Satisfied that Neal was as warm and was as comfortable as could be expected, the elder man turned his back from the bed for a moment, but was quickly jerked back to it.

"Peter" Neal mumbled quietly "could you…would you stay for a while, just till I…you know, fall asleep?"

The elder man who had merely been turning to drag the chair that resided in the corner of the room over to the side of his headaches bed, nodded instantly and retrieved the desired furniture.

Plopping down in it and smiling softly at the half dozing kid, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from the boy's eyes.

"Wasn't planning on going anywhere, buddy."

….

TBC


	5. Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace

"Morning Neal" Peter greeted amiably, as the younger man slouched moodily into the kitchen.

He bit back a grin.

The kid was _definitely_ not a morning person.

Neal set himself down with a heavily dramatic plop, and winced slightly as last night's spanking reared its head in response.

He glowered heavily as Peter chuckled in response.

"Taking pleasure in other people's misfortune is a sign of a weak mind, you know" he growled as he squirmed in the hard chair.

Rolling his eyes, Peter held up his hands defensively.

"You really need to learn the difference between one's _uncontrollable_ misfortune and one's _controllable_ misbehaviour" he teased lightly.

"You been watching Nanny 911 again?" Neal shot back with a grin.

Peter rolled his eyes at the cheek, and merely indicated to the breakfast options on the table.

"Eat. We need to be out of here in the next twenty minutes to get to work on time."

Neal sighed.

"We don't need to be at work for another hour and a _half_ " he grumbled.

Eyeing him sternly, Peter shook his head.

"You know I like to be early" he said simply.

"You know I like to be early" Neal repeated mockingly and mutinously under his breath.

A sharp and brisk smacking noise echoed around the kitchen,

"OW Peter, what was that for?" Neal spluttered through a mouthful of cornflakes, indignation etched on his face as he massaged his slapped wrist dramatically.

"Don't mutter under your breath" Peter replied simply, "now, finish your breakfast please."

Scowling heavily, but eventually rolling his eyes good-humouredly when Peter merely chuckled at him, the younger man obediently munched his way through his cereal.

Soon, the handler and informant were on their way to work engrossed in amiable conversation concerning their current case, with some unwise side commentary from Neal as to the fact that Peter was driving a saloon, not an armoured tank. Complete with mutterings about the futility of leaving for work in the middle of the night if they were going to drive like something out of the 1940's.

An exasperated Peter was glad to pull into the FBI lot and issue instructions to keep his pouting charge quiet for the day. To his relief, Neal got stuck into the less exciting aspects of the case cooperatively and the working day trundled by without any cause for alarm. As finishing time loomed, Peter swung his jacket over his shoulder, contended with the day's progress, and set out of his office to collect some more files. And Neal.

He was further pleased to see the kid where he'd left him and with a considerable amount of work under his belt. Boring work, which would usually drive the informant crazy. Which in turn would cause him to drive everyone else crazy. However, the young man hadn't put a single toe out of line today, which was a feat in itself. Suddenly a humorous suspicion grabbed him, as he surveyed his apparently angelic informant.

Stopping in front of his desk and looking down on the diligent Neal, Peter smiled despite himself.

"You ready to head home now?" Peter interrupted gently.

Looking up in surprise, clearly having been in a world of his own the tousled black head nodded eagerly.

"Sure, just let me put all this away" he agreed readily, shuffling a vast array of completed files into some semblance of order.

Five minutes later the two men were headed back out of the FBI building and were soon on the way home, having stopped briefly to pick up dinner. Neither of them could stand the other's cooking, so takeout was deemed to be the most diplomatic of solutions.

Neal managed to carefully bring the conversation around to his impressive work load that he had accomplished during working hours, making it sound like an offhand casual comment that merely confirmed Peter's earlier suspicions.

Biting his lip in an effort to keep himself from grinning, the elder man raised an eyebrow at the younger man across the dinner table.

"Wouldn't be trying to butter me up would you, Neal?"

The look of hurt shock was a fraction too delayed to be real, but it was a stellar effort nonetheless.

"Butter you up? I have no idea what you mean" Neal spluttered in outrage.

Peter leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"Neal…" he said warningly.

Pouting, the younger of the two heard the undercurrent of firmness in his name and acknowledged he'd been busted with a resigned sigh of his own.

"Did it work?" he asked hopefully, peeking up through his piercingly blue eyes.

Wishing with undue might that he could answer in the affirmative, Peter reluctantly shook his head in the negative.

"Nope. We're still going to have a chat before bed, and you should know better than to try and get out of it. You know full well why you're in trouble; don't make it worse by trying to worm your way out. You have it coming, and you know it. Is that clear?" Peter reprimanded, albeit in a relatively gentle tone.

Groaning, Neal nodded with only a trace of sulkiness.

"It's clear" he muttered.

At the elder mans slight tilt of the head and raised eyebrow he sighed.

"I'm sorry" he added ruefully.

Satisfied, Peter smiled and nodded his head.

"Good, come on then. Let's get this mess cleaned up and watch some television for a while. Deal?"

"Not any form of… _sports_ and it's a deal" Neal countered.

Groaning, Peter nodded his head.

"Antiques Roadshow it is" he teased, not wanting the kid to think he was really angry with him for trying to save himself. It was a fairly understandable reaction.

Appreciating the implied message in the wheedling, Neal snorted and grinned before careering into the living room to ensure he got what he irritatingly dubbed "his" spot.

He knew Peter would stay behind to rustle up some kind of comfort food. He always did.

Sure enough, five or so minutes later the elder man entered and silently deposited a bowlful of Neal's favourite caramel popcorn on his lap, before plopping down in an armchair and resolving to get a television for the boy's room so he wouldn't have to suffer through his choice in shows.

Two or three hours slipped lazily passed, and Peter was actually quite engrossed in the artefact documentary when it came to an end. Glancing at his watch he saw it was approaching eleven and he wearily tried to pull himself together.

Neal may never believe it, but at this moment Peter didn't want to spank him just as much as the kid didn't want to _be_ spanked.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he went with his age old motto of "just get it over with" and slowly seated himself upright in his chair, turning to face Neal as he did so.

The look of alarm tinged with pleading sadness on the handsome face tore his heart.

If he had been even a fractionally weaker man, he would have, right there and then gone back on his word and let the kid off the hook. However, he knew that doing that wouldn't be what was best for Neal, who was more important than his feelings of guilt.

"Ok Neal, up you go. I'll be there in a few" he instructed softly, but firmly.

"Five more minutes?" the younger man pleaded.

"No. Go to your room, now."

"Can I just watch the -"

" _Now_ Neal" Peter repeated sternly, levelling the kid with a glare.

Neal groaned as though everyone he loved in the world were dead, and painstakingly made his way off the couch, puppy eying Peter all the time in the hopes of reprieve.

There were none forthcoming.

Huffing, he changed tactics and swept moodily from the room.

Peter winced as he heard the bedroom door slam shut.

He should have known better than to think the boy would make this easy.

Letting out a weary breath, he stood and began his nightly tidy up and check up of the bottom floor.

Picking up the bits and pieces belonging to the sulking informant, he tidied them away before setting off to check on the kitchen and grab Neal a drink and one his favourite pastries.

As he made his way up the stairs he fervently wished El were home to reassure him he was doing the right thing. She was always torn between telling him he was too hard on Neal or that he let him away with murder, and all he could do was hope she would find a middle ground with the current set up.

Knocking gently on the closed door, he nudged it open when the muffled call from inside instructed him to do so.

Feeling a wave of déjà vu as he surveyed Neal perched on his best in sweats and a t shirt, Peter groaned inwardly. Placing the drink and snack on the bedside table, he perched in the armchair he had left beside the bed the previous night.

"How're you doing in here?" he asked gently, hoping that his ward could see that this wasn't exactly walks by the lakeside for him either.

Turning a pouting face to his handler, Neal scowled.

"Just peachy" came the loaded reply, dripping in sarcasm.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, Peter fixed the kid with a glower.

"You really think insolence is the best way to go right now?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not being insolent" the younger man retorted, "you asked me a question, and I answered."

"Neal… lose the tone. I'm warning you."

Neal let out a bitter laugh, so unlike his own, it almost hurt the elder mans ears.

"Or what, you'll spank me?" he scoffed "news flash Peter, that ship has _sailed_."

Knowing that the kid was only acting like this because he was angry at the lack of control he had over his current situation, the agent bit his lip in order to keep his cool.

"The ship where you can get a healthy dose of my belt _after_ I spank you, _hasn't_ sailed, Neal."

Instantly, the scowling pout dropped from the informants face. As he grappled with both the pangs of self preservation and guilt about how hard he was making life on his handler, Neal looked up beseechingly.

"Sorry. I'll… lose the attitude."

Nodding, Peter stood up.

"You're damn right you will, and you can lose the pants too. Up, now" he instructed sternly, as he settled himself once more on the side of his miscreants bed.

Knowing there was simply no room left for protest, Neal reluctantly unfolded his furled up stance and made his way off the bed, and to the side of his seated handler. Shuffling slightly, he looked at the older man pleadingly, hoping he would get the message without him actually having to verbalise it.

Peter looked at the kid questioningly for moment, and then understood.

Reaching out he took a tight grasp of the young man's and pulled him gently down over his knee, before swiftly tugging down his sweats and boxers to his knees. He kicked himself for making Neal think that he would force him to "lose the pants" when he was stood right in front of him, he had absolutely no desire to unduly embarrass the kid.

Glancing down at the now bared backside across his lap, he was satisfied that there were no visible remnants of damage from yesterdays…discussion. He closed his eyes in distaste as he processed the other piece of information that he knew.

A spanking on top of a recent spanking, despite there being no marks, was going to hurt a lot more.

Tightening his arm around Neal's slim waist, he sighed.

"Ok Neal. Tell me why you're here" he instructed.

He could feel, rather than hear the groan the kid gave in response.

"Neal…"

"Because…I didn't tell you I needed help. I lied to you. I tampered with my anklet and I put myself in unnecessary danger" came the muffled response, due to the fact the kid's head was currently buried into the bed covers.

Nodding his head in agreement and relief, Peter patted the boy's back gently.

"Good, much better" he said approvingly.

He knew there were no more words necessary, and therefore he reluctantly drew his hand back and let the first of many, many sharp and stinging swats fall on the soft upturned and unprotected, backside.

Yesterday in response, Neal had let out a quiet hiss.

Today in response, Neal involuntarily let out a strangled yelp.

Hearing the squawk of distress as it reaffirmed his knowledge that this spanking would be much tougher on his informant; Peter felt a particularly strong pang of guilt. Pulling himself together and pushing it aside, he raised his hand for the second swat and as it fell he quickly settled into his time honoured rhythm.

Working his way methodically across Neal's backside, Peter lost no time in reapplying the colour he had brought to the cheeks a mere twenty four or so hours ago. His hard hand was extremely broad, and it therefore covered a large portion of the younger mans rear with each stinging swat he brought down upon it.

Neal began to squirm vigorously much sooner on in proceedings than he usually would. Tears also sprang up in his eyes with an alarming swiftness as his already tenderised backside went through the ringer with a well practiced hand.

Peter continued to light a fire across his wards backside as he simultaneously fought to keep a _hold_ of his ward. Neal's squirming was becoming quite intense, and as the younger man began kicking his legs in an attempt to cover his backside from the onslaught of swats, the elder man had no choice but to land a well placed slap on each of the kid's upper thighs.

Neal predictably howled in protest and Peter felt his heartstrings begin to contract.

"Stay still Neal" he ordered firmly "I know it's hard, but try to stay still."

For once, the reforming con did as he was told and his squirming returned to a manageable level.

When the loud sobbing broke out however, Peter almost wished the struggling would take its place.

Taking a breath, the agent continued to rain down swat after swat on the now glowing backside, albeit in great reluctance.

Raising his outer knee, and dropping his inner one, he effectively tipped the crying boy forward. He tried to block out the sounds of Neal's increased sobbing and pleading as he did, which left him in no doubt that the kid knew exactly what he intended.

As he peppered the now exposed sit spots with firm and deliberate swats, Neal's loud sobbing broke and it was replaced with a quiet and heartrending weeping. Whilst he hated the sound of it, Peter knew it was indicative of the spanking coming to a close.

Bringing his hand back to the top of the scorched backside, the agent began a last cursory volley of stinging swats over every inch of the well chastened posterior. As he applied one last coat of red to the already heated sit spots, Peter fought to summon his resolve for the last time of the night.

"You do not fail to come to me. You do not lie to me. You don't not interfere with your anklet, and most _importantly_ you do _not_ needlessly put yourself in danger Neal. Have I made myself _clear?"_

He waited patiently for the young man to compose himself enough to answer.

"C-clear Peter…it's c-clear I swear…" the strangled response had come, through a haze of tears.

Verbalising an acknowledgement of his informants correct answer, and dishing out a last few and perfunctory swats, Peter brought the punishment to a merciful close.

Rubbing the familiar comforting circles, he began murmuring to the now limp and quietly mewling Neal.

"Alright now, you're ok…I got you buddy…it's all done" he all but crooned, as he stayed rigidly still, knowing that Neal needed the comfort of his being close to get all the crying out of his system.

Not that he'd ever admit it of course, but Peter wasn't as oblivious as the kid thought.

Considerable time drifted past, and the elder man made absolutely no attempts to move the now sniffling Neal off his knee.

He instead continued to rub circles on his back and reassure him of his forgiveness.

Eventually, Neal gave one last sad sniffle that broke the elder man's heart before he began to push himself up off his handler's knee.

Standing up with him and tactfully looking away as the kid hoisted his clothing back into its rightful place, Peter felt a wave of tiredness crash over him.

As the strains of the pained hiss caught his ears, he knew it was safe to turn around.

He couldn't help but wince in guilt.

The custom Caffrey hair was windswept and interesting looking, the normally completely composed face was flushed and the usually sharp eyes were red rimmed and bleary.

He was unaware that he'd misjudged the drop in the sharpness of his informant's eyes.

"Stop that Peter" Neal ordered suddenly, in a choked voice.

The elder man merely stared at his charge in confusion.

"Stop what?" he asked, feeling completely nonplussed.

"Stop feeling guilty" Neal reprimanded "I deserved what I got…however if you tell anyone that, I will deny it to my dying breath."

Feeling himself marvel at the younger man, Peter couldn't help but smile warmly.

"That obvious, huh?" he asked sheepishly.

"You'd make a crappy con man" the kid replied with a smile, a simple smile that offered a degree of reassurance that a thousand words couldn't.

Opening his arms, the team leader tilted his head at his rogue.

"Come here" he said gently.

He barely had time to blink before the younger man shot into his outstretched limbs; with a force he wouldn't have believed the slender ex(ish) con to be capable of.

As he buried his head in his handler's chest, Neal let out a contended sigh.

Hearing this, Peter chuckled softly and tousled the dark hair affectionately.

Breaking away, Neal looked up and fixed the older man with a sincere gaze.

"I'm sorry you know – I really am. I'm not just saying that to get out of trouble."

Smiling and tucking the kid gently under the chin, Peter nodded whilst he steered him into a seating position on the bed, to which his informant let out a loud and pained hiss.

Sitting down beside him, the elder agent flashed him an equally sincere gaze.

"I know you're sorry Neal, I know you are. Just because I'm still punishing you, doesn't mean that you're not forgiven. I _do_ forgive you. I always will. It just takes a little longer to _teach_ you not to do it again, can you understand the difference?" he asked gently.

Nodding his head immediately, Neal pondered his response for a brief moment.

"Kinda like when you made me copy from that horrific Sports Illustrated, every night, for two weeks straight?" he asked.

Snorting at the memory, Peter also nodded his head with immediacy.

"Yeah son, exactly like that. Thanks for reminding me of that by the way, that seemed to work pretty well" he teased gently.

The horrified expression on the young man's face was priceless.

Chortling and draping an arm around his charges shoulders, Peter gave him a tight squeeze.

"Only kidding, now how about we get you into bed buddy? It's late and you've had a long day."

Suddenly feeling very sleepy at the very mention of bed, Neal complied with the agent's very gentle lifting of him up off the bed. He waited patiently as Peter pulled back the bedclothes and then very gingerly placed himself on his side, hissing at even the slightest contact with his rear.

Pulling the covers up around his clearly drained informant, the elder man paused only to pass the kid his drink and snack, both of which he accepted gratefully.

Dropping down into his armchair perch, Peter rolled his eyes at the elaborate explanation of how many of the greatest artists gleamed their inspirations from freshly baked products.

"You really should _read_ more Peter, _honestly"_ Neal lamented, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes beginning to return, though not quite there yet.

"You really should _sleep_ more Neal, _honestly"_ the team leader retorted good naturedly, glancing at his watch.

He had enough experience of the young man to know how cranky he got without enough sleep under his belt.

Finishing the last drops of his drink with a theatrical gulping noise, Neal handed the glass to Peter with a dramatic flourish.

" _There,_ oh keeper of the night, I am ready to yield to your ministrations" he replied impishly.

"Did you just call me a priest?" Peter asked in confusion.

"How did El marry you?" Neal murmured sleepily, his eyes beginning to droop.

"Told you before kid, my dashing good looks."

He vaguely heard something that sounded like "glaucoma" before the young man began to fall asleep in earnest.

He twisted in his chair to get comfortable, and instantly regretted it as the blue eyes flew open.

"You going?" Neal asked shyly, even his sleep filled state, trying to sound off hand, nonchalant.

"I'm going absolutely nowhere Neal" Peter replied firmly, resting a hand on the boy's head.

"Go on to sleep now son, I'll be here, I promise."

It took only three minutes for the soft snoring to fill the room.

…..

TBC

…...

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in updating, I was in my NCIS headspace! Full steam ahead for Neal and Peter now though, promise! Please let me know if you have any suggestions you'd like to see happen as the story goes on!


	6. Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

Peter sighed over the dinner table and attempted to placate his extremely irate, telephone based, wife.

"No, El I'm not, he -"

Neal looked up once more and smirked as he heard the decidedly cross tones of one Elisabeth Burke waft through the receiver Peter was clutching as it if it were an undetonated explosive.

"El, listen he's -"

Neal definitely couldn't help but beam when he distinctly heard the short burst of speech that made his handler wince.

 _"Every night for a_ week _Peter? What were you thinking? How is he?"_

"Hon, you need to let me explain, he -"

He never got to explain. Instead, Agent Burke moodily held out the phone to a positively gloating Neal with a dire look of warning, which the informant chose to tactfully ignore.

"Hey El"

Peter glowered silently as Neal put on his best hard done by face and his lower lip jutted out.

"Yes. You simply wouldn't believe it, it's been horrible, he -"

The young man's face fell somewhat as he was interjected, by a question he didn't want to answer.

"What did I do?" he echoed tentatively.

Peter's glower lessened and was beginning to be replaced by a self satisfied smirk.

"Yes, I know Peter isn't punishing me for no good reason, but he-"

The smirk on the handlers face became even more pronounced as Neal let out a wavering sigh, and under Peter's strict gaze he began to slowly tell Elisabeth the whole story.

Albeit with a great degree of reluctance.

By the time Neal had come to the close of his stuttering and stammering explanation, Peter couldn't help but shake with laughter.

His wincing informant fell quiet for a considerable time as he could hear the octaves of his wife's voice rise with every syllable.

Eventually, Neal gave a weak nod and murmured a quiet "got it El" into the phone, before snapping it shut and handing it back to Peter looking like a scolded puppy.

Taking the phone back, the elder man raised a questioning eyebrow.

Sighing heavily, Neal pouted before answering.

"She's not happy."

Chuckling, Peter stood and began to clear away the dishes pausing to ruffle a morose looking Neal's hair.

"That's what happens when you try and play us off against the other kid."

Scowling, Neal also rose and began clearing away, sighing dramatically as he did so.

"So, what did she say?" Peter asked conversationally, biting his lip to keep from laughing any further at the wounded look on the boy's face.

"Doesn't matter" Neal mumbled in response, making a great performance out of putting a glass away so he wouldn't have to face the older man.

"Neal…"

Scowling, the younger man turned round and threw his hands up in the air.

"She's pissed at me, ok? Isn't that a given state of mind where either of you are concerned? The anti-Neal brigade? I get it ok, I'm a screw up. I don't need _both_ of you to tell me that."

Peter stared at him for a brief moment, before calmly reaching out and grabbing the heavy wooden spoon from the canister on the kitchen counter.

"Turn" he ordered firmly, indicating towards the worktop.

Balking, Neal frantically shook his head.

"Peter, I -"

"Turn, now."

A last pleading look was cast out through a mop of dark hair which was firmly ignored and Neal whimpered, but obediently turned himself around, placing his hands on the countertop and leaving his backside vulnerable.

Placing a warm hand on the kid's back, Peter lost no time in bringing down a quick but stinging flurry of swats, the heavy wooden spoon carrying a concentrated sting.

As soon as it began, it was over. The elder man had intended the impromptu spanking to be a wakeup call more than anything else, and as he rubbed Neal's back he tossed the spoon back to its original place.

Gently pulling a dry eyed but hissing Neal up into his arms for a quick hug, Peter sighed in sadness at the boy's opinion of himself.

As he released him, he tilted his head up with a gentle finger and looked at him with an equal mixture of softness and firmness, and corrected the notion that he knew was rattling around the kid's head.

"No Neal, that _wasn't_ for the attitude. Though, I would advise you to drop it. That was for referring to yourself as a screw up. You are no screw up; you are young and wilful with a brilliant mind. That trio of characteristics is gonna land you in hot water now and then, but it does _not_ mean that you're a screw up or anything of that sort. I never want to hear you refer to yourself like that again, is that clear?"

"Yes Peter" Neal mumbled softly, slightly embarrassed by his outburst and warmed by his usually laconic handler's affectionate speech.

Nodding, Peter smiled his approval and the two quickly finished up the kitchen.

As the last cup was put away, Neal couldn't help but say it.

"You never use the spoon…its more…" he trailed off, blushing heavily.

"El's choice?" Peter supplied with a wry grin.

"It's not funny! But, yeah…"

Sighing, the elder man rested against the countertop for a moment and pondered his answer.

"Putting yourself down for no reason when you know how I feel about that was too much for just my hand, but too little for anything else" Peter explained simply.

"Any chance this means that I get a reprieve for tonight then?" the young man asked hopefully, pulling the hallmark puppy eyes out of the bag, and staring beseechingly.

Rolling his eyes, Peter landed one quick swat to the seat of Neal's jeans and sent him into the living room to pick out something to watch, graciously ignoring the mutterings under his informant's breath.

Hours passed and Peter valiantly suffered through what had to be _the_ most boring history of art documentary that had ever been produced, with minimal fuss. He chuckled privately to himself as he glanced at the engrossed Neal, happy that he was happy.

For now anyway.

Casting a glance at his watch he saw it was nearing a respectable time for bed and as the factual show came to an end, he had to fight to stiffen his resolve for the third time that week.

Clearing his throat, he sat up straighter in his chair and turned to look at his charge.

The pleading look in the kid's eyes caused him to physically wince and for the millionth time caused him to wonder if he was being too hard on the boy.

As he quickly worked through what could have happened to Neal on his unauthorised jaunt, he felt his jaw clench and nerve harden.

"Go on now, up you go" he instructed gently, but making it clear that it was not optional.

The eyes grew wider and Neal shook his head frantically.

"Please Peter…please don't. I've learnt my lesson, I swear. I'll never do it again" he pleaded.

Groaning inwardly as he fought not to give in, when he so desperately wanted to, Peter shook his head firmly.

"Neal. Do as you're told. I won't be long."

"I can't…I can't take another one…please…"

The whimpering tone of his wards voice made Peter physically flinch, but he again stayed resolute.

"Do you trust me Neal?"

The instantaneous nodding, accompanied with a heavily earnest "yes" caused Peter ridiculous amounts of happiness.

"Then trust me to never give you more than you can take. I'm not trying to torture you; I'm trying to teach you. Now, go on and up and get ready for bed and I'll be with you in a few minutes."

As Neal opened his mouth to protest once more, the elder man cut him off.

"I'm not wearing a belt right now, but I can certainly get one if you'd prefer?"

Within a blink, Neal had scampered off the couch and out the door.

Smiling a small smile, Peter tended to the usual tidying up and readying of drink and snack for the now presumably sulking boy wonder.

Flicking off the last of the lights and checking the doors, he felt a wave of déjà vu strike him as he teetered up the stairs with a tray in his hands.

Nudging open his door, he entered Neal's room firmly expecting him to be on his bed and scowling.

However, Neal was nowhere to be seen.

Figuring the kid was in the en suite bathroom, Peter plopped the tray down on the bedside table and sat himself down on the bed and waited patiently.

He waited patiently some more.

Eventually, his patience began to wane.

Not long after it expired completely.

Standing up and crossing the room in three strides, he rapped smartly on the bathroom door.

"Neal, unless you're giving birth in there, you have five seconds to come out."

Silence.

"Neal!"

Eventually a mumbled answer came through the door, but Peter couldn't decipher it.

"What?"

Silence ensued for a moment, and then a much clearer answer rang out.

"Not coming out…go away."

Peter stayed stock still for a moment as this registered in his brain.

As it registered, his teeth began to grind and his temper began to rise.

"You have five seconds to get yourself out here, or you're going to regret it Neal."

No answer.

"Five."

No answer.

"Four."

No answer.

"Three".

No answer.

"Two."

No answer.

Beginning to feel a bit desperate, Peter hesitated before counting down any further, but when no exit was forthcoming, his hand was forced.

"One."

No answer.

Groaning and resting his head against the door frame, Peter briefly considered kicking the door down, but instantly decided against it.

Calming himself down with great difficulty, he eventually decided on his approach.

"You've made this so much worse for yourself Neal. You're going to come out of there eventually, and I'm going to be here. It's your call as to how long it takes and how much angrier you make me."

With that, he strode back to the bed and collapsed on it and began to wait, again finding himself wishing El was home.

Ten minutes passed.

No sign of surrender was forthcoming.

Twenty minutes passed.

Still, no sign of surrender was forthcoming.

Just as Peter had had just as much as he willing to put up with, the door creaked open and Neal poked his head tentatively out.

"Would it make a difference if I _had_ given birth?"

Growling, Peter pointed to the bed as he himself stood up from it.

"Get your backside over here _now."_

Neal dragged his feet towards his allocated spot, all the while cursing himself for his intense stupidity.

Had he just done as he was told, they'd be done now and he'd be munching on the very appealing looking artisan pastry that was propped on his nightstand.

Taking his seat, he looked up at Peter with beseeching eyes. He wasn't surprised however when they were merely met with a fierce glare.

"Just what exactly do you think you were playing at?"

Reddening somewhat, the young man dropped his gaze and began to fidget.

"So help me if you push me any further tonight Neal…"

Gulping, the reforming con nodded and took a deep breath.

"I didn't want to get spanked" he explained simply, as if it was the same as explaining to a small child that the sky was blue.

Peter looked at him incredulously.

"You didn't want to get spanked?" he repeated faintly.

The guilty nodding of his wayward charges head affirmed he hadn't misunderstood the explanation.

"You thought disobeying me, hiding in the bathroom, and refusing to come out when I told you to, would make me _not_ spank you?" Peter exploded.

Reddening even further, the kid's fidgeting increased tenfold.

"I didn't think" he murmured shamefacedly.

Gritting his teeth, Peter surveyed him angrily.

"Well, I'm going to _teach_ you to think. When I'm finished, you'll be just the best _thinker_ this side of DC."

Instantly snapping his head up, Neal again pulled out his poodle eyes.

"Peter, I'm sorry, I-"

"Are nowhere near as sorry as you're going to be" he was interrupted firmly.

"Up" Peter added.

"I'll never do it again, I-"

" _Up."_

Groaning, but realising he had no one to blame but himself, Neal obediently stood as Peter sat.

Within seconds he was in the all too familiar position of being upended over his handler's knee, and feeling his sweats and boxers being pulled down to his knees. He grimaced as a cool breeze caressed his now bared backside, knowing that _cool_ was the last thing that part of his anatomy was going to experience for a while.

The first swat was considerably harder than usual and drew a silent hiss instantly.

Peter was certainly not holding back and the milky white rear end quickly toned up into a dusty pink, drawing strangled yelps from the upturned Neal in response. The hard hand came down in fast but logical progression, and Peter ensured he covered every inch of the kid's backside.

As Neal began to squirm vigorously under the onslaught, Peter held him tighter to him and continued his silent administration of the boy's punishment. Under his hand, the skin was rapidly escalating from a dusty pink to a glowing red. He knew the spanking was harsher than the previous two, but damn it to hell if the kid didn't bring it on himself.

As he tipped Neal forwards he heard the young man finally give into the tears that were threatening from the first swat and closed his eyes slightly in response. Toughening himself up by recalling the bathroom siege, he brought his hand down hard and fast on the exposed and sensitised sit spots, causing the crying to immediately notch itself up to outright sobbing.

Bringing his hand up the upper area of the now crimson backside, Peter landed another all over cycle of swats over every conceivable inch of skin, before stopping. Usually, the kid would be allowed to cry himself out before being pulled into a forgiving hug. However, this time, they weren't quite finished.

"Up you get Neal" Peter instructed in a gentle tone, but with an undercurrent of sternness that immediately let the younger man know they weren't done.

As he clambered off his handler's knee still sobbing, he didn't object or protest when Peter guided him into bending over his bed, before he stepped into the bathroom that was the secondary cause of all the trouble.

As Neal cried, somewhat more quietly, he again lamented his own stupidity.

He lamented it even further when, through his haze of hot tears, he saw Peter exit the en suite clutching a fearsome looking bathroom brush.

Damn El and her insistence on fully decorated and functional bathrooms.

Peter didn't speak or scold as he placed a warm hand on the small of Neal's back for the second time of the night.

He knew words were redundant and that Neal was completely clear on why he was currently bent over the bed and not in his arms.

Taking a breath, Peter quickly set to work in dishing out the last part of the kid's punishment.

It wasn't long and he held back on the strength of the swats, but he was completely aware that the ten or licks he delivered from the bath brush would drive the point about disobedience home succinctly enough.

As he laid down the last lick, Peter immediately threw the brush out of his hand and pulled the sobbing Neal's boxers and sweats back up to their rightful position, wincing at the yelp that escaped the younger man in response.

As he went to pull the kid into his arms, he was beaten to the punch.

Neal threw himself into his embrace, and laid a hot head on his shoulder as he continued to cry.

Wrapping his arms around the boy's slender frame instinctively, Peter held him tightly to him and began to murmur reassuringly into his ear. From the nodding, he was satisfied that the kid understood.

They stayed that way for a long time, and Peter made no attempt to extract himself from the younger mans grip and patiently allowed him to cry himself out on his shoulder. He kept up his usual and sincere stream of reassurance and forgiveness, and eventually the crying petered out and stopped completely.

Neal then broke away, and rubbed his sill watery and red eyes and winced as the slight motion of his arms moving set his backside ablaze once more.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking" he croaked out once more, looking up at Peter sadly.

Chuckling, Peter reached out and tousled his hair.

"No more apologies. It's done now and you're forgiven. Ok?"

Grinning a small shadow of his usual grin, Neal nodded in agreement.

"Ok" he said softly.

Peter drew back the covers of the bed, and indicated for Neal to hop in.

This he did with extreme care and a tortured expression, which turned to a glowering stare as Peter couldn't help but chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry" he chortled as he drew the covers up around the kid, "you always look like you're recovering from life saving surgery afterwards is all."

"I'll probably need life saving surgery after this week, or _you_ will" Neal muttered under his breath, as he gently put himself on his side.

"What was that?" Peter asked cheerfully, having heard every word.

"Nothing, nothing" came the hasty reply, causing the elder man to roll his eyes and wordlessly hand the kid his drink and pastry.

As Peter fell down into his now habitual perch in the chair beside Neal's bed, he caught a trace of embarrassment cross his charges face.

"What's up buddy?" he asked gently.

"Nothing…"

"Neal…"

Blushing as he chewed slowly, Neal swallowed before answering.

"It's just…I don't want you to think that…well, it's just…"

"Neal…"

"I'm not a kid… I don't want you to think I need you to babysit me just because my ass is sore."

"I know you're not a kid and I'm not babysitting you, I'm _sitting_ with you" came the patient reply.

Neal pondered for a moment, before answering.

"Still…" he argued "you don't have to."

Nodding, Peter observed him for a moment.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked gently.

"No" Neal blurted out before he could stop himself, and blushed further as a result.

Leaning back in the chair, Peter put his hands behind his head and settled down comfortably.

"Well, that's that settled then" he said lightly.

"But…"

He was cut off, gently.

"Neal, my father always sat with me when I was in your position, let me do the same for you ok buddy" Peter said quietly.

"Really?"

Snorting slightly, the elder man nodded.

"Really."

Visibly relaxing, the kid finally nodded and resumed his chewing, understanding what Peter was saying and finding his heart warming in response.

It soon became clear however that he was once again in deep in thought.

"Neal?"

Grinning slightly, the young man looked up at him wryly.

"Wait till I tell El that you were thinking about kicking down her antique teak bathroom door."

Closing his eyes slightly and pinching the bridge of his nose, Peter feigned a glare.

"Try it buddy, just you try it."

…

TBC

…

A/N: Please let me know what you think and if there's anything in particular you would like to see! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	7. Thursday's Child has Far to Go

"Meatloaf for dinner?"

Neal grimaced instinctively, before recovering and putting his impeccable manners to use.

"Uh, actually Peter, there's this new little Italian takeaway that's just opened up that I really think we should try…"

Steering the car out of the FBI lot, Peter laughed at his informant's diplomatic answer.

"That bad huh?"

The fervent nodding beside him let him know Satchmo was the only who appreciated his domestic graces.

"Fine, fine" the elder man chuckled, turning the car in the direction of Neal's preference.

An hour or so later and both agent and informant were happily chatting over two plates of Linguini, discussing the relevant merits of the current case they were working. It was only when Peter's facial expressions changed into what Neal instantly recognised as his "serious" face, did the atmosphere change.

Setting down his knife and fork and resting his head on his interlinked fingers in front of him, Peter eyed Neal studiously for a moment before speaking; causing the younger mans anxiety levels to mount as he racked his brains to think about what he'd done.

"I wanted to talk to you tonight, Neal."

Neal's face fell further and before Peter could utter another syllable, he had interjected.

"I didn't do it Peter, I swear I didn't do it."

An eyebrow was raised.

"You didn't do _what_?"

A returning eyebrow was raised.

"Whatever it is you're about to say I did. I didn't do it."

Rolling his eyes, Peter could help the small bout of laughter that escaped him.

"Why do you always think you're in trouble?"

When Neal looked at him wryly, Peter laughed once more and raised his hands in defeat.

"Fair point kid, fair point, but no, you're not in trouble."

"Well, no new trouble" he added teasingly.

Neal's only response was to scowl heavily.

Sobering once more, Peter took a breath before broaching the subject he wished to discuss.

"I wanted to talk to you about this week, about… how you're feeling about it all."

Neal merely looked at him blankly.

"How I'm feeling about it all?"

Peter simply nodded and studied him closely, with an odd expression on his face.

"Yes. How you're feeling about your grounding and...everything"

Seeing that he was about to gleam no further instructions, Neal let out a frustrated breath.

"I don't know what you mean Peter and I don't know what you want me to say…do we really have to talk about this?"

Sighing himself, the elder man pondered his answer for a moment.

To Neal's concern his handlers face reddened slightly before he eventually answered.

"I guess I just wanted to make sure that you're…ok. That… _we're_ ok…"

Silence ensued for a moment whilst Neal also took a moment to consider his answer.

"Are you asking me how I'm dealing with being spanked every night and if I… _resent_ you Peter?"

A slightly sheepish expression crossed the agents face, but he nodded in the affirmative nonetheless.

An unusually serious expression fell over Neal's face in response.

"Do you want me to be completely honest?"

"You know I always want that Neal."

Nodding, the young man chewed on his lip for a moment before responding.

"I _hate_ being spanked every night. I would have _much_ preferred it if you'd just strapped me. You know I hate it when you…" the kid reddened slightly "when you punish me…over your knee like that."

He took a deep breath before continuing.

"That being said Peter; it's not supposed to be about what I'd _prefer._ I know why you're choosing to punish me like this, and I get it. I might not like it, but I get it."

Another deep breath was consumed.

"As for the resenting you part…" he shot Peter an equally uncharacteristically stern look.

"You should know by now that I never resent you for punishing me. I never have. I might sulk about it, and I might grumble about it, but I always know I've deserved it."

When Peter opened his mouth to interrupt, Neal took one last intake of air and pressed on.

"I appreciate everything you do for me Peter. You _and_ El. You've given me a second chance. One that I'd never thought I'd have. But, I've messed up before and I _will_ mess up along the way, but I _do_ intend to make the most of it. The fact that you're there to wear me out when I slip up makes it all the more likely that I _will._ Now, does that answer your question?"

It took a few seconds for Peter to realise his mouth was agape.

It took a further few seconds to identify the constricted feeling in his throat as a lump.

As he swallowed it down with some difficulty, he looked at his ward with pride in his eyes.

He knew he couldn't manage a speech to rival his loquacious informant, and he didn't try to.

"Thank you Neal" he eventually managed to croak out, knowing that the boy would hear the words he couldn't formulate in the three words.

Nodding, the younger man knew that he needed to lighten the mood to put Peter at ease.

"Should we braid each other's hair now then? I see El has a killer new smokey eye palette; I could do yours if you like? That charcoal shade will really make your eyes pop Peter."

Snorting in laughter, the agent rose and rapped Neal lightly and playfully round the ear.

"Cheeky pup. Go on, clear out to the living room and find something on the box to subject me to. I'll bring snacks in a minute."

Beaming at the thoughts of one of his favourite films being scheduled to show, Neal scarpered from the kitchen and plopped down in "his" spot in the Burke's living room

Ten or so minutes later, Peter entered with a bowl of Neal's favourite pretzels.

As he settled himself down in his habitual arm chair, he choked on his own handful of pretzels when he saw the movie the kid had picked.

" _Catch Me if You Can?"_ he spluttered between peals of laughter.

Neal returned the grin with a smug expression.

"It's basically our lives on the big screen Peter, so don't you dare scoff. Of course, dear Frank here _could_ have learned a lot from me…"

Pretending to glare, the elder man nodded in reluctant agreement.

"I don't doubt it. Just so long as you don't go getting _any_ ideas from _him_."

His words fell on deaf ears; the boy was completely engrossed in the film, oblivious to the fond expression on his handlers face as he surveyed him.

Two or so hours passed in companionable silence, interspersed with the odd snorts of laughter.

As the credits began to roll, Peter felt the stranglehold of déjà vu knock the air out of him for what felt like the millionth time that week.

As he turned to instruct the kid to go upstairs, he was beyond surprised and grateful when he was already getting to his feet.

"I'm going, I'm going" he said softly, doing his best to hide his anxiety at the thoughts of another backside warming.

"Good lad Neal" Peter said approvingly, feeling extremely proud of the boy in that moment.

As he heard the bedroom door upstairs close quietly, the agent pulled himself wearily out of his chair and began the clear up.

Putting together the kid's traditional bedtime tray, he was relieved to see he still had a stock of his favourite fancy cookies.

God bless El.

Gently pushing open the door, he secretly prayed he wasn't facing into another Battle of the Bathroom siege.

To his intense relief, Neal was propped up on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and sweats.

Depositing the tray on the nightstand, Peter perched down on the bed in front of the silent kid.

"You ok buddy?" he asked gently.

The dark mop of hair bounced as Neal nodded in response, but as he made to stand up, Peter put a restraining hand on his knee.

When the kid looked at him quizzically, Peter drew a deep breath.

"Before I spank you Neal, I want you to go through all the reasons that led to you being punished in the first place."

Predictably, the handsome face fell.

"Peter…please, I don't need to go through them….I know why…"

"I want to hear it Neal."

Scowling and sighing, the young man began to fidget and squirm but didn't answer.

"I'm waiting."

Groaning, Neal leant back on his pillows and chewed his lip.

"Because… I tampered with my anklet, which could get me thrown back in jail."

Peter nodded encouragingly, in clear indication to continue.

"I didn't come to you when I needed help."

Another encouraging nod was proffered in response.

Knowing where his handler wanted him to go, Neal stifled a groan but decided to bite the bullet.

"I lied to you and I put myself in unnecessary danger as a result."

"Bingo, kid" Peter responded softly, that didn't match his now very stern expression.

Squirming once more, Neal looked at the older man guiltily.

"I'm sorry…I should never have done it, it won't happen again."

Peter nodded in agreement.

"No, you most certainly shouldn't have. I know there were mitigating circumstances, but you still should have come to me. Damn it, Neal…I was so scared when I couldn't find you. Please…don't ever do that to me again."

The guilt in the blue eyes intensified.

"You were scared?"

The agents head bobbed in the affirmative instantly.

"It was the first time…" he began, but trailed off hesitantly.

"It was the first time, what?" Neal urged, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer, but knowing he needed to.

Taking a gulp of air, the agent looked at him with the most sombre expression the young man had ever seen him wear.

"It was the first time I truly understood how the parents of missing kids, no matter how old they are, really _feel_ when they come to me _._ That fear, Neal…it's truly like nothing else I've ever felt.

Neal gulped guiltily and felt complete shame wash over him.

"I'll never do it again" was all he could offer, in a choked voice that rang with sincerity.

Gripping his knee affectionately, Peter smiled in response.

"I hope not buddy, I really hope not. I'm not that young anymore, I have to look after my heart you know."

Grinning at the well intentioned levity, Neal nodded.

"Ok, up you get and let's get this over and done with" Peter instructed, and was further relieved when Neal, apart from gulping somewhat, did as he was told.

Scooting back on the bed as he had done for the week to date, the elder man reached out took a hold of the kid's wrist, and gently pulled him over his knee.

He deftly tugged the sweats and underwear down, exposing a pale but clearly sensitised backside.

Sighing, he wrapped a firm arm around Neal's waist and pulled him close to his torso.

"What number spanking is this Neal?"

"Four" came the muffled response; owing to the fact the young man had his face buried in the bedspread.

"And I'm never going to have to give you a fourth spanking in a row again, isn't that right?"

The fervent "yes Peter" was also muffled, but the elder man caught it nonetheless.

"Good."

Without further adieu, the hand left the backside where it had been harmlessly resting and cracked down on it, with a resounding force.

Understandably, Neal yelped loudly.

Peter grimaced, knowing from experience how much resilience one's backside loses after being warmed through consecutive days.

Pulling himself together, he settled quickly into his regular tempo.

His hard hand came down on the soft upturned bottom in a logical and punishing sequence, allowing just enough time in between for the sting to peak, but not to subside any.

After just a minute, Neal began to cry.

This fact alone nearly caused Peter to fervently want to instantly pluck him off of his knee and into his arms.

It was only the fact that it would not be in the kid's best interests that prevented him.

So with great reluctance, he attempted to block out the mounting sobbing and continued to bring his hand down with unfaltering precision.

The skin of his informant's rear reddened much quicker than usual, as a testament to the series of lessons it was absorbing.

Peter didn't scold or lecture the yelping and crying kid as he spanked, knowing that all that had to be said had been said, and the most effective communication now, was hand to backside.

As he tipped Neal gently forward to address the tender sit spots, he cringed with guilt as a fresh wave of intensified sobbing met his ears.

Closing his eyes briefly, he peppered the exposed sit spots with firm and stinging swats, knowing that the boy would feel them as he sat his desk tomorrow morning.

As the spanking progressed and the only sounds that could be heard in the room were the crisp smacks as they rained down on Neal's rear, and Neal's crying in response, Peter felt the young man begin to go limp over his knee.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he took this for the usual sign that the spanking was coming to an end, and that another lesson had been nearly learned.

As he brought his hand down to increase the heat in the already fairly well spanked sit spots, Neal squirmed vigorously.

Tightening his hold around his waist, Peter again issued a substantial flurry of swats to the vulnerable area, before moving upwards to begin the last cycle of swats over the now fiery red backside as a whole.

There was no more squirming or struggling, and the loud sobbing had been replaced with a much quieter bout of weeping as he further reddened the boy's backside.

Finally, the very last searing swat landed and the hand that had punished instantly became the hand that was to comfort.

Rubbing soothing circles on the young man's back, Peter continued to hold him tightly to his torso as Neal cried himself out over his knee. It took a long time for the final tear to fall, but the elder man would have stayed in his position all night if that's what it took.

As a sniffling Neal started to stand up, Peter quickly, but gently pulled his sweats and boxers back up over his flaming hot backside.

Standing up with his informant, the agent momentarily became stunned as the wind was forcibly knocked from him.

As he registered the winding, he looked down in shocked dismay thinking that Neal must surely have punched him full force in the gut.

He however smiled his fond smile, when his brain caught up with the fact that the forcible removal of air was a result of Neal wrapping himself around his torso and clinging tightly.

Instantly enveloping the still sniffling kid into a tight hug, Peter spoke softly into his ear.

They stayed in that intense embrace for quite a while, with the seasoned agent continuing to issue a nonstop monologue of reassurance based forgiveness, whilst carding his hand softly through the tousled mop of hair.

Eventually Neal broke away, and looked up at Peter through red rimmed eyes.

"Did you ever do carpentry?" he asked, in a hitched and choked voice from all his crying.

Looking at him in confusion for a moment, the elder man shook his head in the negative.

"No buddy, why's that?"

Looking up him ruefully, Neal sighed.

"Your hands are like _leather"_ he complained.

Snorting, and rolling his eyes Peter moved towards the kid's bed and began to pull back the covers.

"Stop making me use them then" he said simply.

"Go on now, in you get."

Eying the soft mattress dubiously, Neal shot a pleading look at his handler.

Instantly knowing what the blue pools were asking, Peter shook his head firmly.

"No Neal, no rubbing. You know the drill, now in you get."

Not even having the energy to protest, the reforming con gingerly placed himself in the soft bed, letting out a hiss as he did so. As he turned to his side and propped himself up on his elbow, he gratefully took a swig of the milk Peter extended.

Plopping down in his chair, the agent handed over the cookie and chuckled as it passed the "fanciness" test, and was uncerimonously devoured.

"Nice?" he asked teasingly.

"Very" Neal replied unfazed, "El has exquisite taste, unlike some."

Rolling his eyes and letting the jibe go, Peter settled himself down comfortably.

"You don't have to -"

"I want to Neal" Peter interrupted firmly, "so pipe down."

Grinning, the kid for once did as he was told.

But not talking for Neal, meant thinking.

As Peter observed him, he saw a faint dawning of embarrassment cross the young man's face.

"What it is Neal?" he asked, feeling déjà vu strike once more.

Flushing even further, the ex-ish con sighed at himself for being so obvious.

"Nothing…"

"So help me Neal Caffrey, I will ban those cookies from this house if you don't talk to me."

Looking horrified at the very prospect, the kid opened his mouth obediently.

"It's just…you must think I'm such a…I mean it's only your hand, I shouldn't…"

Confusion fogged up Peter's mind, and he stared blankly at the informant.

"Huh?"

Sighing once more, Neal bit the bullet, knowing full disclosure was inevitable.

"I shouldn't cry so much from just a hand spanking, I'm a grown man for god's sake."

Scowling instantly, Peter fixed Neal with a glare.

"Neal. I will have you know I bawled my eyes out from every single "just a hand spanking" my father gave me. It hurts. It hurts like hell, and it's not just the pain you're crying from. It's letting go of the guilt. Crying is _nothing_ to be ashamed of, and it's all part of the process. I never want to hear you chastising yourself for it, or I _will_ be taking that spoon out again. You understand me?"

Nodding instantly and feeling a whole lot better, Neal visibly relaxed.

"Good lad."

A comfortable silence ensued for a moment whilst the younger man noisily slurped his milk.

"Peter?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"Your dad…he spanked you?"

Grinning, Peter nodded.

"Yeah kid, I wasn't always "Peter McPerfect or Burke the Jerk" you know" he said, arching an eyebrow.

Flushing, Neal racked his brains to come up with who had ratted him out on his nicknames for his handler.

"Dianna?"

"Never you mind you brat, never you mind" Peter chuckled.

Grinning sheepishly, Neal nodded.

"And…you cried?"

Looking at him fondly, Peter reached out and ruffled his hair.

"All the time buddy, all the time. So no more worrying about that ok?"

"Ok" Neal replied shyly and with the fain strains of sleepiness.

Standing up and taking the glass out his fatigued informant's hand, Peter gently pulled the covers up around him.

"Time for sleep now, ok?"

Nodding, Neal settled himself down carefully on his side as Peter settled himself back into his chair.

A few minutes passed in silence, before a sleepy voice broke the stillness.

"Peter?"

"Yeah Neal?" came the instant response.

"You're not so bad after all."

A slight chuckle came from the chair that was now cased in darkness.

"I'm glad to hear it kid, glad to hear it."

…

TBC

…

A/N: With this being the fourth spanking in a row, I wanted the boys to have a little heart-to-heart time so apologies if this came across as sappy! Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!


	8. Friday's Child is Loving and Giving

Perching on the edge of Neal's desk, Peter looked down at the large stack of completed case notations in obvious surprise.

"You really powered through these, huh?"

Looking up through his wavy black curls, Neal absentmindedly nodded and finished up his last correction with an exaggerated flourish.

"Can't get the boss mad, he's a real piece of work" he said cheekily, grinning up at a pretending to scowl Peter.

Settling for giving a pointed rolling of the eyes, the elder man stood up and shrugged on his suit jacket.

"Come on kid, that's enough for today. Time to clock off."

Smiling his easy agreement, Neal stood and slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Indian tonight?"

Peter sighed; the kid practically lived on fast food.

"Actually Neal, I was thinking of making-"

The horrified look that flitted across Neal's face cut him off.

Snorting, he held his hands up in defeat.

"Indian is good."

Grinning, Neal nodded and the two had soon vacated the FBI building, making their way out in search of some form of acceptable food.

Half an hour or so later saw both men arguing on the front door step, being hopelessly locked out and trying to navigate armfuls of takeout whilst searching for the keys. Wild accusations of key holding responsibility were being shot back and forth.

Just as Neal was about to Neal-ishly open the lock, ignoring Peter's threats and admonishments in the process, the door suddenly swung open, leaving both handler and informant staring up bemusedly.

Peter recovered first.

Thrusting his stack of food on top of Neal's, he quickly stepped forward and pulled his beaming wife deep into his arms.

She laughed her beautiful laugh as he squeezed her as if he hadn't seen her in fifteen years.

When she eventually escaped from his grasp, she looked over his shoulder and smiled warmly at a now grinning Neal.

"Hello trouble" she said fondly, "come in out of that cold now, both of you."

Both men obeyed, and when each caught the smell of El's delicious roast chicken special, neither objected to her forceful and disdainful removal of their Indian offerings.

An hour or so later, El had recounted her latest party planning fiasco, which was partially responsible for her early return, and three plates had been wiped clean to the sounds of Peter and Neal's laughter.

After coffee, Neal insisted on washing up, leaving Peter and El free to wander into the living room to pick out a film for the three of them.

Groaning inwardly at the thoughts of what he knew was going to be some ice skating documentary or other, Neal set to work.

Seated comfortably in the living room, El nuzzled into her husband's shoulder and looked up at him knowingly.

"How you doing hon?" she asked in what seemed a casual manner, but the question was loaded.

Looking down at her, Peter gave a non committal shrug of the shoulders.

He should have known better to think she would leave it at that.

Nudging him softly, she gazed at him expectantly.

Sighing, but knowing this was a battle he was destined to lose, Peter threw an arm around her shoulders.

"It's been…hard" he admitted quietly, not wanting Neal to overhear and be embarrassed.

Nodding sympathetically, El grimaced at the thoughts of what her decidedly big hearted husband had been going through.

"How's he taking it?"

Thinking quietly for a moment, Peter leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.

"Pretty well" he eventually answered, "a bit of whining, one episode of barricading himself into the bathroom, but other than that…" he finished lightly, with a small smile.

Chuckling slightly as the bathroom based standoff flashed into her mind, El nodded thoughtfully.

Reading the emotions her husband was currently feeling like a book, she squeezed his arm gently.

"You're doing the right thing."

Looking down at her once more and rubbing a thumb over her chin, Peter didn't look all that convinced.

"Sometimes I think I am, and then sometimes I think I'm being way too hard on him" he said, with a quiet frustration.

Resting a warm hand on his knee, El tipped her husband's chin up with a gentle finger.

"Peter, stop that. Neal has never had stability or consequences for his actions. Which is the main reason he's got himself that anklet in the first place. He _needs_ you to give him boundaries, whether he knows it or not, and whether he likes it or not. Don't let him down by wavering now, hon."

Instantly feeling better, and thanking god she was home, Peter nodded and smiled down at his wife.

"It's easier with you here" he answered quietly.

Hearing the distinct sounds of the washing up in the adjoining kitchen coming to an end, El smiled and squeezed Peter's hand, reaffirming the decision she had already made in her inner mind.

Looking up at the tired face of her husband, she knew it was the right one.

"I'm going to give him his spanking tonight, you need a break."

Shaking his head instantly, Peter straightened up in chair.

El _hated_ spanking Neal even more than _he_ did. All she wanted to do with him was feed him up and fuss about his weight and lack of a girlfriend whom she deemed to be "good enough" for him.

"No, El, I-"

"Need a break" she interrupted firmly.

When her husband was still protesting, she held up a hand in a clearly silencing gesture.

"Peter, stop it. I… care about him just as much as you do. His actions _scared_ me more than I could have thought possible, and he's _going_ to hear about it."

Staring at the determined look in her eyes, Peter smiled and gave in.

There was no way he could change her mind. Besides, it would do the kid no harm to remember that there was more than one pair of hands willing to show him the error of his ways.

And as much as he wouldn't admit it, the thoughts that he wouldn't have to be the one to take Neal over his knee that night _was_ a welcome relief.

Seeing that Peter had noted the merits of her argument, she once again squeezed his wrist gently.

"Good. That's settled then."

Nodding gratefully, Peter tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head lightly.

"Thanks El."

Snorting slightly, she looked up at him wryly.

"No need to thank me Peter, he's as much _my_ menace as he is yours."

Both husband and wife looked at each other and broke into laugher, sharing the same thought.

Neal might be a menace, but he was their menace, and they wouldn't change him for the world.

The cause of the joviality walked into the room at that moment and smiled his wide smile at the sight of Peter and El laughing and cuddling like teenagers.

"What's so funny then?" he asked lightly, deliberately depositing himself smartly in the middle of them.

"Neal!" Peter began to scold, as he was forcibly ejected from his spot.

"What?" the kid replied with wide eyes, looking at him innocently.

Peter opened his mouth to tell him _exactly_ what, but was pipped to the post.

"Ah let him be Peter" El instructed, as she looked at the now grinning Neal fondly.

Scowling, the agent crossed his arms across his chest and settled into his new sofa cushion.

Minutes later however, all three of them were immersed happily in a serial soap drama that not one of them would ever admit to having seen outside the four walls of the Burke residence.

Time passed and the only break in viewing was from Peter, who scowled as he was sent by El into the kitchen to make some of Neal's favourite popcorn.

The kid took the offered bowl some ten minutes later with a slightly smug smile.

He might as well have been wearing a "she's here now, you have to be nice to me" placard around his neck.

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes with some difficulty, and smiled to himself as he thought of how drastically Neal's opinion of his wife's soft streak was going to change in an hour or so.

When the credits eventually rolled, Peter flicked off the television set with a yawn.

He had to stop himself from turning to Neal and telling him to go to his room.

This one was El's.

He watched silently as she took the now empty popcorn bowl from Neal's grasp and set it on the coffee table.

"Neal sweetie, go up to your room now please and get ready for bed."

There was something in her tone that instantly alerted the previously very relaxed boy to an ulterior motive.

"Oh actually El, I was just-"

"Going upstairs, going to your room, and getting ready for bed" she interjected sternly.

This time there was no mistaking the change in her tone, and Neal balked.

Surely this couldn't mean…

As if reading his thoughts, she nodded sadly.

"Yes Neal, I'm going to be giving you your spanking tonight. I don't want to hear a single word about it now, get yourself up those stairs and I will be with you in a few minutes."

Visibly wincing, Neal whirled round to his handler for support.

"Peter, I-"

Holding up his hands instantly, Peter shot him a stern look which, was a feat, considering how much he wanted to chuckle at the horrified look on the kids face.

"Do as El tells you Neal. Now, please."

Gaping and pulling out all the stops with his puppy dog eyes, Neal tried again.

"But Peter" he whined, "you're usually the one-"

He was cut off, yet again.

"If you prefer Neal, I will put you over my knee right here and right now. But you will _still_ be marching yourself up those stairs for El to deal with you afterwards, it's entirely your choice."

Groaning and looking to El for some kind of miracle support, only to be met with an equally stern glare, Neal scowled and standing, he swept moodily from the room.

Both husband and wife winced at the sound of the sulking kid's bedroom door slamming shut.

Looking at his wife in concern, Peter tilted his head slightly.

"You sure you got this? Because I can go up if you'd rather sit this one out" he said gently.

Smiling, El shook her head.

"No, I'm fine."

She pondered slightly for a moment, before getting to her feet herself.

"See you in a while I guess" she said softly, as she turned to make her way out of the room and up the stairs.

As she was about to walk out the door, she was prevented by Peter's voice calling her back.

"Yeah hon?"

"He likes you to sit with him…after. So I have the chair beside his bed, and he likes something to eat and drink. I'll bring it up later."

Digesting this piece of information with a very fond smile, El doubled back and kissed her husband lightly on the head.

"Look at you, you big softy" she teased gently, laughing as Peter pretended to scowl.

Dropping another kiss on his head, she slowly made her way up to, and outside of Neal's room.

Her gentle knock was greeted by a very surly "come in."

Neal didn't look up from his slouched position on the bed when she entered.

Sitting down on the side of the bed, she placed a hand on his knees; which he had drawn up to his chest.

To her relief, he didn't shrug it off.

"Look at me, Neal" she instructed gently, but firmly.

Obediently if albeit reluctantly, the young man peeked up at her through a frame of his dark curls.

"You care to take a guess as to why I'm so cross with you sweetie?"

Gulping guiltily, Neal looked at her pleadingly.

"You're going to answer my questions Neal, one way or the other."

Knowing from experience that this would indeed be the case, the kid sighed in defeat.

"Because I tampered with my anklet, I lied to Peter and I put myself in danger" he answered, somewhat monotonously.

Smiling slightly at the autopilot tone, El nodded.

"I take it that that lesson has been made clear to you then?" she asked, slightly wryly.

Looking up ruefully, Neal gave a sheepish grin.

"Yeah, Peter…explained it pretty thoroughly."

Squeezing his knee sympathetically, El let out a small sigh.

"I am so disappointed in you Neal."

The kid visibly flinched, which made her want to pull him into her arms, but she resisted.

Just about.

"You could have been _killed._ You could have gone back to _prison._ You will never put yourself in a position like that again Neal, or so help me, I will kill you myself. Is that clear?"

Fidgeting and picking at the bedspread, Neal gave a sad nod.

"Do you have _any_ idea how devastated Peter and I would be if anything were to happen to you?"

Neal looked up, feeling the same pangs of surprise as he had done when Peter had voiced similar questions.

"I didn't think…" he murmured guiltily.

"Yes, I can see that" El responded wryly, beginning to stiffen her resolve to do what needed to be done.

"When you behave like you do, it doesn't just affect _you_ anymore, it affects your family. You got that?"

Glancing at her whilst chewing his lip, Neal gave a small nod.

"Young man, I want verbal answers from you."

Wincing slightly, but pulling himself together, the ex con tried again.

"Yes El, I've got it."

Standing up and doing her level best to ignore the pained look that crossed Neal's face as she did so, she reached out and took a firm hold of him by his wrist, gently pulling him to his feet.

"I intend to make sure of that, Neal."

With that, she sat herself down once more and carefully laid Neal down over her knee, ignoring his embarrassed groans of protest as she did so.

Satisfied that the majority of his torso was resting on the bed, she deftly reached out and pulled his night sweats and boxers down to his knees, revealing his bare backside.

She again ignored the strains of protests, which were now slightly muffled by Neal's face down position on his bed.

Like her husband before her, she wrapped a firm arm around the boy's waist, holding him close to her.

This was certainly not the first time she had taken him over her knee, and she knew, even as she raised her hand to bring down the first swat, that it wouldn't be the last.

Neal let out a small his as El's hand collided with his bared backside, which was very sensitised after already enduring four bedtime spankings.

He couldn't see the pained expression that crossed her face as she heard his sounds of distress, and it was probably for the best. He felt guilty enough as it was.

El quickly fell into a steady rhythm as she firmly dished out Neal's fifth spanking.

She peppered both his cheeks with even and crisp swats, noting from the rapidly changing colour of his rear, that his bottom had been very well spanked in the last few days.

Despite this fact and using all her resolve, she brought her hand down to the tender sit spot region of their troublemaker's backside, and quickly brought it a dusty pink.

She heard the strains of sniffling that were a sure precursor to crying, and felt herself groan inwardly.

She would dearly love to scoop the boy off of her knee and into her arms for a hug, but knew it would be counterproductive.

Feeling a deep sympathy for what her husband had been through, she reluctantly continued with her logical reddening of the young man's rear end, wincing as he eventually gave way to a loud bout of sobbing in response.

As she cracked her hand down fast and hard against the upper area of Neal's upturned backside, she felt him go limp over her knee and heard his previous loud crying subside into an almost gentle weeping. Like Peter, she knew Neal well enough to know that this indicated he had learnt his lesson. With this in mind, she tipped him forwards slightly and landed one last, but searing volley of swats on his already well punished sit spots.

When the last swat rang out, she instantly cradled him closer to her and rubbed a gentle hand across the small of his back.

She knew Neal needed to cry himself completely out before moving, and she stayed resolutely still, encouraging just that.

Minutes and minutes passed, and neither her or Neal made any attempt to move, other that El moving closer to his tousled head to murmur reassuringly into his ear.

Eventually however, his last tear fell and suddenly seeming very conscious of his reddened backside still being on prominent display, Neal made to stand up hastily.

As El stood with him, she turned and made a chore of rearranging the kid's nightstand to give him some privacy.

Appreciating the gesture, Neal hissed as his soft cotton night ends made contact with his smarting backside.

Hearing this, El turned to face him and winced at his appearance.

The usually confident and suave Neal Caffrey was a red eyed shadow of himself.

Instantly opening her arms as wide as they would go, she sighed in relief when he launched himself into them.

As she gently rubbed a hand through his tangled mop of hair, she assured him of her forgiveness.

She knew he needed to hear that.

As he broke away, she caught the telltale pooling of tiredness in his bright eyes.

Striding towards the bed, she pulled back the covers and gently guided him into it.

He predictably winced in response, but settled himself onto his side with as much stoicism as he could.

Immediately throwing herself down in Peter's usual chair, she held up her hands when she saw the boy open his mouth in protest.

"I am staying with you, one word from you and you'll be my guinea pig for finger food tasting for a week" she threatened teasingly, laughing at the horrified expression on the kid's face.

"How're you doing sweetie?" she asked gently, when it was clear Neal was going to accept her bedside position without a fuss.

Looking at her for a moment, Neal opened his mouth uncertainly, before looking way guiltily.

Clocking this, El leaned forward in concern.

"Neal, talk to me. What are you thinking?"

Looking back at her in obvious conflict, Neal licked his lips and decided on the truth.

"I'm sorry I made you do that" he muttered, reddening somewhat, "I know you hate it."

Sighing slightly, El leaned forwards and rested a hand on his arm.

"You don't have to apologise sweetie, I forgive you. Yes I _do_ hate spanking you, but that's only because I care about you so much. The reason I _do_ spank is you is also because I care so much, bummer huh?"

She laughed at the confused expression on Neal's face.

"I _don't_ like spanking you, or punishing you. However I will not hesitate to do so when I think you need it because you mean far too much to Peter and I to let your poor decisions put you in danger without there being consequences. Do you see?"

Neal smiled despite himself at the now familiar thoughts of being cared for so much.

"I see, El" he murmured softly.

Leaning back in her chair, she nodded approvingly.

"Good, because by the time we're through with you, you'll be ready to run for office" she teased lightly.

"Me? In _politics?"_ Neal scoffed disdainfully, grateful for the levity and the distraction from his smarting backside.

Rolling her eyes, El merely looked at him fondly.

"El?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"I uhh…" Neal broke off, looking down at his bedspread in embarrassment.

Leaning forwards once more, she reached out and squeezed his hand.

"What is it sweetie?"

Taking a deep breath, Neal looked up at her with somber eyes.

"Thanks."

Feeling the confusion that often enveloped Peter when it came to Neal cloak her, she looked at him in confusion.

"Thanks?"

Blushing somewhat, Neal nodded.

"For caring about someone like me" he added shamefacedly.

El said nothing what seemed like an eternity.

When she did respond, it wasn't exactly verbally.

Standing up, she gently pulled the covers down from around Neal's shoulders, and deftly put pressure on his shoulders, placing him lying on his stomach.

She had his pyjama sweats back down before he could even register what was going on, and placing one hand on his back, she used the other to dish out the ten firm swats that echoed around the room in swift succession.

Carefully pulling the pants back up around Neal's scarlet bottom, she gently manoeuvred him to his side once more, before pulling up the blankets to his chin for the second time.

Dropping back into her chair and fixing the completely astonished looking Neal with a glare to rival even that of her husbands, she spoke in a very un-El voice.

"Neal George Caffrey, if I _ever_ catch you speaking about yourself like you don't deserve to be cared about, you and I are going to have another little chat involving my wooden spoon. Do I make myself _perfectly_ clear?"

When Neal gave an instant, if albeit stunned nod, she softened.

"You young man, are a wonderfully kind, caring and intelligent boy. You are worthy of being cared about, everyone is. You need to start accepting that sweetie, ok?"

Blushing at the praise, Neal once again felt his head nod and contentment sweep over him.

That is until he spied something very wrong with the situation he was currently in.

"El?"

"Yes Neal?"

Pouting slightly despite himself, the increased pain in his backside contributing to the expression, he looked at her dolefully.

"Peter always brings a snack with him" he whined.

Rolling her eyes, El made to stand to go and see where Peter had gotten to when a knock came on the door.

"Room service is here" she laughed, before calling to her husband to come in.

Nudging into the room, and seeing Neal in his bed and El in his usual chair, Peter sighed in relief.

Both of them had survived then.

Depositing the traditional tray down onto Neal's lap, he and El grinned when they saw him light up at the sight of one his favourite artisan muffins.

Perching on the side of Neal's bed, Peter looked at him fondly.

"How're you doing buddy?"

No answer.

Peter and El exchanged worried glances.

"Neal?" they both chorused, staring at him intently.

Looking up dramatically, and through a mouthful of muffin, Neal spluttered out an answer.

"This isn't gluten free!"

…

TBC

…


	9. Saturday's Child Works Hard for a Living

"Please Peter… _please_. It's a once in a lifetime-"

Agent Burke felt his eyes twitch in irritation as he interrupted his pouting charge.

"Neal…so help me, you are working my last nerve with this. I said _no._ Now drop it."

The younger man stood rigidly upright and his sulking expression intensified dramatically.

"It will only take three hours, what's the big deal!" he exploded.

Standing up as well, and leaning over his desk to glare in even closer quarters at the outraged younger man, Peter scowled.

"The big deal, Neal, is that you're grounded. You know you're grounded. You know you don't get to go off and have fun when you're grounded. What part of this is particularly confusing for you?"

Glad that his handlers office door was closed, so no one could hear this enunciation of his horrific sentence, Neal matched Peter's scowl.

"The part where you have the right to ground me in the first god damn place?" he shot back, unsure where his sudden anger came from, but feeling its full force surge through him.

Taken aback by the cheekiness of the answer, Peter stared at him silently for a moment.

When he spoke, it took the scowl straight off of Neal's face.

"Congratulations kid, you just bought yourself cold cases for the night. You will go straight to your room after we're done here and work through them. You keep this attitude up, and you'll find sitting at your desk an uncomfortable experience. Is that clear?"

A horrified expression crossed the young man's face and he gaped for a moment.

Peter never got so stern with him so quickly.

"Hey, c'mon…I'm sorry ok? I just…have cabin fever, and I really wanted to go to that museum. I'll can the attitude, I promise."

Rubbing a hand across his face in exasperation, Peter shook his head.

"No Neal, you do _not_ get to give me that kind of insolent cheek. I warned you to drop it, and you didn't. Actions have consequences, I thought I was getting through to you on that, but apparently you need some additional help."

He paused as the look on Neal's face did its work on his heartstrings, as it always did. Sighing, he pushed himself forwards.

So, no. Not only are you not going to the museum, you're not to be out of your room except for dinner tonight. Now, get yourself back to your desk and get back to work, and for your own sake have a better attitude when I see you next."

Opening his mouth to argue, but seemingly thinking better of it, Neal turned and stormed from the office without another word.

Peter sighed as he saw him through his glass panelled walls angrily throwing himself down at his desk, and violently banging his computer into life.

The rest of the day passed tensely by.

When it came to communal idea giving on their current case, Neal was professional but gave Peter the coldest of cold shoulders.

When it came to lunch time, he point blank refused to go out to lunch as they always did on the not so rare Saturday's they were forced to work. He instead opted to eat in the FBI canteen, something Peter knew he positively despised.

When it came to a short jaunt into the field to interview a potential eye witness, Neal refused to open his mouth in the car, despite Peter's gentle cajoling.

Growing exasperated, when, on the way back to the office the kid kept up his sudden passion for muteness, Peter fixed him with a glare as they stopped for a red light.

"Neal, you stop that sulking right now, do you hear me?"

Turning a pointedly neutral face towards him, the younger man looked at him questioningly.

"You said to stop giving you attitude, I stopped giving you attitude. You can't make me _chit chat."_

Sighing heavily, Peter shook his head.

"C'mon Neal, you know fine well that you were out of line earlier. Please don't make things anymore unpleasant then they have to be."

A silence ensued for a moment, before the younger man spoke. Well, exploded.

"You never treat Jones or Dianna as harshly as you do me, you give me hell for the slightest things!"

Being so surprised by the short outburst, Peter didn't see the red change to green until angry commuters behind him honked him into action.

"Are you serious?" he spluttered in incredulous response, kicking the car into gear.

The look Neal shot him from under a mound of black curls, let him know he was serious.

Peter stayed silent for a moment as he pondered his answer.

He didn't want to make Neal embarrassed or angry, but it was pretty hard to choose words that facilitated this.

"Neal. I know I'm harder on you than I am them, but well…they don't have the same…behavioural issues that you do."

Instantly, he knew he'd said the wrong thing.

Neal's face darkened and he shot him a look of pure venom before turning to stare out of the window.

Groaning to himself and gripping the steering wheel tightly, Peter tried again.

"I just mean that they don't get themselves into as much trouble as you do…"

The face, despite his beliefs as to the impossibility of the fact, darkened further.

Sighing, Peter remembered El's simple advice when dealing with Neal.

Just be truthful, as simply truthful as possible.

With this in mind, he tried for the third time.

"Jones and Dianna are important members of my team Neal, it's just different…with you."

Neal paled a bit, and purposefully didn't turn around in response, staring out the window with an almost alarming intensity.

"I'm not important then? That's nice Peter, that's real nice."

Grateful for the second red light he had just yielded to, Peter reached out and rapped Neal sharply across the wrist.

Raising his voice slightly to be held over the indignant yelping that filled the car, he levelled the now pouting kid with a glare.

"Jones and Dianna are important members of my team Neal, and I care a lot about them. You however…you're an important member of my _family_ , and I care very deeply for you. I thought you understood that by now."

Blushing slightly, Neal finally showed Peter the courtesy of looking at him, and to his relief he saw that the elder man's face was slightly reddened also.

Neither of them were very good with expressing or exchanging emotions.

"Sorry Peter, I do know that…I was just being…"

"A brat?" Peter supplied with a grin, which Neal returned sheepishly.

"I suppose you could say that" he murmured softly, feeling embarrassed by his petulant adolescence.

"I'm sorry" he added again, and Peter had no trouble discerning the sincerity in his tone.

Nodding and smiling gently, he nodded at the younger man, relieved the tension of the day was melting away.

"Good, now can we get back to the office and finish up for the day in peace then?"

Another rueful nod was given in response, and Peter again smiled fondly.

Minutes passed, and just as they were about to pull into the FBI buildings, Neal turned to Peter with a hopeful look on his face.

"Does this mean that I-"

"If you are about to ask me if this means that I'm letting you off your cold cases tonight, I swear to god, you and I are going to take a trip to the conference room and I will tan your backside" warned Peter immediately, completely reluctant to get into a another whining battle about the earlier punishment he'd dished out.

Wisely Neal closed his mouth, and offered him a dashing smile instead.

Rolling his eyes and laughing despite himself, Peter parked up and the two exited the car.

Throwing an arm around the younger mans shoulders, he ruffled his hair endearingly.

"Good choice buddy, good choice."

Shrugging Peter off in mock annoyance and rolling his eyes, Neal scarpered off towards the direction of the bathroom to put his perfect hair back into place.

Three or so hours later, Peter left his office for the final time that day and waited patiently at Neal's desk for him to gather his things, depositing a hefty ton of files onto his desk, which the kid wisely chose to accept with reasonably good grace.

The ride home was amiable and the two were in pretty good spirits when they meandered through the Burkes front door.

Upon hearing this, El popped her head around the corner of the kitchen and was delighted to see the two home relatively early.

Kissing her husband and squeezing Neal's arm, she declared dinner to be ready in two hours.

"Neal, come right through to the kitchen, I need your help on a tasting menu for my latest function. I think it's turning out to be a little too Tapas like for the clients taste."

Her smile faltered somewhat when she saw Peter give the younger man a stern look as he shuffled slightly in response, his eyes glued to the floor.

Sighing, she appraised the situation correctly.

"What did you do Neal?" she asked, resigned to the fact that the kid was in trouble.

Neal looked at Peter for help, only to be met with a firm glare and the folding of the elder mans arms against his chest.

A clear indication that he had to tell Elizabeth himself.

Sighing slightly, he looked up at her beseechingly.

He could always get away with more with her, than with Peter.

"I uhh…well, you see…"

"Neal" murmured Peter warningly.

Nodding reluctantly, Neal tried again.

"I wanted to go to a special symposium at a nearby museum tonight. Like, I really wanted to go. You'd love it El, it's an amazing-"

"Neal George Caffrey" Peter growled in interruption.

"Right" murmured the young ex con nervously, "well, like I said I really wanted to go and I asked Peter, and well he said _no_ El."

"Of course I said no" Peter exploded, but upon being met with a stern glare from his wife, he wisely fell silent, but fumed to himself. One of these days he would literally kill the kid.

"So I was upset, you know? Because it really is a once in a lifetime experience, and I tried to explain this to Peter, but he just wasn't having _any_ of it and-"

El held up her hands in her own interruption, tilting her head slightly as she did so.

"Get to the point, sweetie."

Resigning himself to his fate, Neal dropped the wounded, woe is me tone and adopted a much glummer one.

"I was insolent when Peter said I couldn't go because I was grounded, and questioned his right to ground me in the first place."

He shot a heated look at the elder man, and was irritated beyond belief to see the small, smug smile that adorned his otherwise expressionless face.

"I see" El said simply, but whilst piercing Neal's soul with her gaze.

"So, is that why you can't come into the kitchen with me?" she asked calmly.

Nodding dramatically, the young man fixed her with a stare more befitting an innocent man on death row than a diplomatically reprimanded ward of the state.

"Yes" he murmured sadly, causing Peter's palms to twitch, "he's making me stay upstairs in my room for the whole night, _working_ , all by myself…on a _Saturday_ "

"Is this true, Peter?" El demanded of her husband, who held up his hands defensively.

"Yes, El, but he was completely out of line" he protested, feeling his temper rise once more when he saw the gloating smile spread across the kids face.

The smile was quickly wiped off the handsome features, as his wife turned her attention back to him.

"Well then you can count yourself lucky young man, because if you had spoken to _me_ like that, being confined to your room would be the least of your troubles. Now, get yourself up those stairs and get on with whatever work Peter has set you, and I will call you for dinner."

When Neal merely gaped at her sadly, and Peter snorted with ill disguised laughter, she shot both of them a dire warning look.

Neal quickly scarpered and Peter quickly composed himself in response.

Storming into the kitchen and muttering something that sounded distinctly like "two children" under her breath, El busied herself with her tasting menu and Peter collapsed gratefully on the sofa.

The allotted two or so hours passed without further incident, and soon the decadent smells of roast beef with all the trimmings spread throughout the house.

As the game came to a close, El once again poked her head round the kitchen door.

"Dinners ready Peter, why don't you go on up and fetch the menace" she smiled.

Snorting at the accuracy of the statement, Peter nodded and made his way upstairs to Neal's room.

Knocking gently, and entering when the voice within called out, he was very pleasantly surprised to see the kid had powered through nearly all of the files he'd given him.

Flicking through them to make sure they had been completed properly, he was again happy to see that they were.

"Great work buddy, you flew through these" he praised softly, and was rewarded by one of the rare, unmasked and unfiltered smiles that sometimes shone through the boys meticulously crafted demeanour.

"Thanks" he murmured quietly.

"I really _am_ sorry for what I said you know" he added ruefully, fidgeting in his desk chair.

Throwing the file down on the desk, and ruffling the kids hair affectionately, Peter nodded.

"I know you are Neal, I know. Come on now, time for dinner."

Nodding, the younger man carefully marked the spot in the file he was currently working on, but was surprised when Peter gently tugged it out of his grasp and cast it aside.

"Ah, I think you've learnt your lesson, you can stay downstairs and watch TV with us after dinner" Peter explained benevolently.

Beaming in response, Neal caught the waft of dinner and was out the door and halfway down the stairs in the timeframe it took Peter to blink.

Laughing to himself, he made his way out after him, flicking out the lights and closing his door behind him.

He and El were in full flow conversation when he entered the kitchen, Neal giving his opinion on how to tenderise the protein for her upcoming conventions vol au vents.

Dinner was a jovial affair, full of laughter and teasing as well as delicious food.

The cleanup operation was done by the three of them in record time, and as Neal hightailed it into the living room to secure the best spot, El raised a questioning eyebrow at Peter.

"I didn't have the heart to make him stay up there on his own all night" he explained sheepishly.

Smiling at this predictable outcome, El gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek.

"You're a complete softy, you know that right?" she teased gently.

Nodding and rolling his eyes, Peter laughed for a moment, before recalling a memory.

"Oh yeah, who's the one yelled at me for an hour because I forgot to make sure he had plans for last thanksgiving?" he shot back, his eyes twinkling.

Grinning at the incident in question, El conceded defeat.

"Ok fine, whatever" she laughed, "let's just get in there before it's another night of clay moulding documentaries."

The two took their usual perches and were relieved when the movie Neal had picked was moderately within reason.

Some hours and junk food later, the last scene flickered on the television before Peter tiredly reached for the remote and shut it off, feeling even more tired when he thought of dragging Neal across his knee once again.

Turning to the kid for what felt like the hundredth time that week to tell him to march himself upstairs, he faltered for a moment.

The young man was curled up around a cushion and looked so…peaceful.

Glancing at his wife in desolation, he toughened himself up when she gave him a clear "I know, but you still have to" look.

"Neal, time to go on upstairs now please. I won't be long."

He said it as firmly as he could, but it came out more as gentle cajoling than a stern order.

The boy looked up in misery, and opened his mouth, presumably to argue before apparently thinking better of it.

With a sad shrug of his shoulders, he dramatically heaved himself up off the couch, kissing El politely on the cheek as he did so.

He mooched slowly from the living room, his blue eyes wide with self pity and letting out the occasional loaded sigh.

Peter let out his own sigh of relief when he heard the kids bedroom door snap softly shut, and turned to El with a saddened expression on his face.

"You'd swear he was on death row the way he carries on."

Letting out a small peal of laughter, El playfully swatted her husband's shoulder.

"Don't be mean Peter, he's sensitive" she scolded.

"You baby him too much, no wonder he thinks he can get away with anything" her husband grumbled in response, to which she smiled indulgently.

Peter may pout, but she knew he would do anything for Neal.

The two snuggled on the couch for a few more moments before Peter, deciding it would be unfair to make his charge wait any longer than he had to, also pulled himself wearily off the couch.

Looking up at him sympathetically, El squeezed his hand in support.

"You're nearly there, just tomorrow night and all over" she soothed.

Nodding, Peter smiled down at her.

"I actually want to run something by you about tomorrow, when I'm done with the boy I'll fill you in."

Feeling she knew where her husband was going with his thoughts, El smiled widely at him.

"Ok, I'll be in our room when you're done. Go on now, don't keep him waiting."

Peter set off towards the stairs, and within a minute found himself gently knocking on Neal's door.

Entering when prompted, he again marvelled at how young the kid looked in his oversized night clothes.

Perching down on the bed beside him, he looked at him fondly.

"Hey buddy."

Looking up with sorrowful eyes, Neal made little work of Peter's heartstrings.

"Hey Peter" he murmured sadly, as if his beloved pet dog had just been brutally murdered in front of him.

"How're you doing?"

A brief silence ensued, before Neal blurted out an answer that made Peter feel an additional bout of weariness come over him.

"Please don't spank me again. Please, Peter. I've learnt my lesson, I swear I have…you don't need to do this, please…"

Groaning to himself, the elder man reached out and placed a warm hand on the boy's knee.

"Neal" he began, forcing a warning tone into his voice, "don't start please, you've been doing great, don't ruin it now."

"But I-"

"But nothing Neal, you know the drill. You can either behave yourself now and take your spanking with just my hand, or you can act up, and earn yourself a dose of the belt as well. Your choice buddy."

When Neal looked at him mournfully and didn't answer, Peter stared at him sternly.

"What is your choice, Neal?"

Sighing dramatically, the kid sniffed and murmured incoherently in response.

"Speak clearly please."

Scowling at the correction of his perfect elocution by a man who thought it was perfectly acceptable to wear double denim, Neal corrected himself.

"I don't want the belt ok!" he said clearly, albeit it heatedly and mutinously.

"Well you're going the right way about getting it" Peter rebuked, "you better lose the attitude, right now, or you will be."

"But, if I lose it _your majesty,_ how will I ever find it again?" Neal shot back without thinking.

The minute the cheeky response left his mouth, he regretted it.

The minute he saw the look on Peter's face, he regretted it even more.

"Ok, stand up."

"Peter, I-"

"Stand up, or I will stand you up."

Freezing at the deathly calm, but dangerously angry voice the elder man was using, Neal looked at him pleadingly, cursing himself for his stupidity.

Reaching the end up his patience, Peter stood up and grasped the non response kid by the elbow and hoisted him off the bed.

He lost no time in seating himself in Neal's vacated spot and pulling the kid over his knee.

The pyjama ends and boxers were down to young man's knees before he had time to draw breath, and the first stinging swat came down before he could blink.

Peter definitely wasn't holding back this time.

Neal hissed as he was drawn closer into the elder mans torso, and the grip around his waist was tightened.

He instinctively knew he was over the irate agent's knee for the long haul.

The swats rained down with a startling intensity, and Neal couldn't help the startled whimpers that escaped him.

Peter for his part, was thoroughly fed up of the yelping kids attitude, and was resolved to expressing this displeasure to the young man in the only manner that he seemed to respond to.

He calmly brought his hand down fast and hard across the quickly reddening backside across his lap.

Angry though he might be, he would never punish Neal without being completely in control, and he was cautious to remain fair and proportionate.

He sighed sadly when Neal let out a strangled whimper as he turned up the heat on his detested sit spots, but if ever a person brought things on themselves, it was this maddening kid.

He didn't lecture as he took the pale skin through carrying degrees of fiery red, knowing that Neal knew why he was where he was.

He heard the first sob escape the young man fairly early into proceedings and felt his resolve weaken slightly.

He positively hated hearing Neal cry.

He logically knew that the early sobbing was from a combination of knowing that he had made matters much worse for himself, and the fact that his backside had been thoroughly spanked five times in a row preceding his current tanning.

Closing his eyes to get a handle on himself, he continued to bring his hand down in logical progressions, making sure to distribute the stinging swats evenly and thoroughly.

As he started a fresh cycle at the top of the kids now ruby red backside, the crescendo based sobbing began to subside into a quiet weeping, and the rigid torso across his knee began to soften.

All the usual signs that Neal had had enough.

Grimly gritting his teeth and wishing that the kid hadn't opened his mouth, and he could pull him into his arms, Peter landed the final swat and gently pulled the boy off of his knee.

He wasted no time in bending him over the bed, not wanting to get his hopes up about getting off with his insolence and not wanting to give himself any time to waver in his promise.

Neal, to his credit, complied and adopted his familiar position without any fuss.

Peter didn't know what was worse as he reached for his belt buckle.

A protesting, whinging and sulking Neal, or a weeping, contrite and miserable Neal.

He saw the boy wince at the sounds of his thick leather belt whooshing through his pant loops, and was sorely tempted to tug his pants up and pull him in for a hug.

Resisting with great difficulty, he doubled the belt carefully in his hand, holding the buckle so firmly in his hand that it pinched his own skin. He would never allow the metal side of the belt to strike the kid.

Placing a restraining, but hopefully comforting hand on the small of the younger man's back, he took in a deep breath.

"Why aren't we finished with your punishment and why are you about to get the belt Neal?" he asked sternly.

Much more sternly than he felt.

It took a moment for the young man to compose himself enough to answer, and Peter waited patiently.

"Because…ahh, because…"

"Take a breath Neal, take a breath buddy."

Obediently gulping in a large intake of air, the ex con tried again.

"Because…because, I gave you… cheek" he answered, with such contrite misery that Peter flinched.

"When is it ok to give me cheek like that, Neal?"

Another gulping of air.

"N-never…m'sorry Peter, m'sorry" the kid gasped out.

Nodding sadly, to himself more than anything, the agent increased his hold on the younger mans back and stepped back slightly.

He landed five searing licks with the belt, each strike landing directly below the last, before throwing the belt uncerimonously out his hand and moved forward to very gently pull Neal's cotton pants back up over his scarlet backside.

Pulling the sobbing young man into his arms, he held him tightly to him.

Normally, five licks from the belt would be considered an introduction, but Peter knew that the kid had learned his lesson and was very relieved as to the fact.

Running a hand through the tousled mop of hair, he stood stock still and let the boy cry himself out on his shoulder, all the while murmuring softly to him.

They stayed in that position for a long time; with the last tear falling from Neal's eyes not being shed for a considerable while.

When he had calmed down enough to pull away, Peter saw the younger man's eyes were puffy, red rimmed and bleary and felt the familiar stabbing of guilt.

Swallowing it down, he pulled back the covers on the bed and very gently guided Neal into it, on his side.

Other than a loud hiss, Neal sank into the mattress in relief, looking up at Peter with doleful eyes.

"Sorry" he murmured sadly, fidgeting with the pillow case morosely.

Plopping down in his usual perch, Peter reached out and ruffled his hair gently.

"No more apologies buddy, it's all done with now, all over" he soothed, whilst mentally kicking himself for forgetting the usual tray of bedtime snacks.

As if reading his mind, Neal smiled softly.

"I'm not hungry Peter; El's cooking has lessened the need for further sustenance."

Laughing at the kid's perceptiveness, the elder man tilted his head in the boy's direction.

"You sure kiddo? I think we have some of those hideous granola things you like."

"Oatmeal, Peter. They're oatmeal."

Rolling his eyes, the agent smiled benignly at the sleepy looking consultant.

A comfortable silence ensued for a moment, before Neal suddenly looked up at Peter seriously.

"What's up buddy?" the older man asked immediately.

"Nothing…nothing" he replied, looking sheepish.

Evidently, Peter wasn't meant to have caught the sombre expression.

"Neal..."

Flushing slightly and looking away, Neal gnawed on his bottom lip.

"How do you do it?" he asked eventually, looking up with wide eyes which to Peter's chagrin were still red around the rims.

"Do what buddy?" Peter asked gently.

Another flush crossed the kid's face, but he answered quickly.

"Forgive me, all the time. No matter what I've done, you've always forgiven me. I could rob the central bank, and you'd still forgive me. How…how is that possible?"

Feeling a pang of sadness that the young man in front of him knew so little of the parental love that was so unconditional in nature, Peter pondered for a moment.

"Because…" he trailed off and felt himself redden.

Why did he have to be so useless with emotions?

"Because…?" Neal prompted, looking up at him curiously.

Taking a deep breath, Peter again followed El's advice for the second time that day, and opted for the simple truth.

"Because a father would forgive his son anything, Neal."

Another silence ensued, and Peter with a tact he didn't know he possessed, pretended to be completely obvious to the new tears that shone in Neal's eyes.

Tears that he knew had nothing to do with the pain in the kid's backside.

"You understand now, buddy?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Neal nodded and hoped that Peter would heed the unspoken reciprocation of emotions in the simple gesture.

He did.

Another comfortable silence ensued, as both men were lost in their own thoughts.

Peter broke it first.

"Neal?"

Yeah, Peter?" the younger man mumbled sleepily.

"You ever rob the central bank and I will take skin off your backside, we clear?"

"Yes Peter" Neal snorted, amused that the older man would think he would so such a thing.

You never infiltrate the actual bank, always the transport.

With that cheery thought in mind, Neal drifted off into an emotionally spent sleep and the only sounds that soon filled the room were his gentle snores.

When El peeked in some time later, curious as to what was holding Peter up, she laughed gently to herself.

Both her boys looked so peaceful when they were asleep.

….

TBC

….

A/N: Whilst the week long story line will come to a close in the next chapter, I'm toying with the idea of keeping this fic as a continual WIP, exploring the many different ways Neal's can get into mischief. What do you all think? WIP or new story?

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	10. The Child Who is Born on the Sabbath Day

Neal woke up and stretched out in the warm and comfortable bed, revelling in the fact that it was Sunday.

He winced slightly as a small but sharp pain from his backside greeted the movement.

Of course, had he been at home last night he and Mozzie would probably have gotten through two or ten bottles of wine between them and he would be currently nursing a killer migraine.

He snorted as he clambered out of the bed and thought "thank God for small mercies" wryly.

As he meandered into his adjoining bathroom, the realisation that his week-long grounding was over as of tonight, he was momentarily confused to find himself feeling conflicting emotions.

He was happy as hell that he wouldn't be getting his ass handed to him every night, which was a _major_ perk to his release, but…at the same time, he had to admit he was a little melancholy.

As much as he hated to admit it, spankings aside, his grounding at the Burke house had been more pleasurable than it had been punishing.

Sure, Peter was a nag about getting up on time and going to sleep at what he considered to be a reasonable hour and if El had her way he'd be five stone heavier, but…it was nice, not living alone.

Even for a week.

Sighing slightly, he hopped in the shower and was soon washed and dressed in a casual jeans and t-shirt.

Padding down the stairs in sock clad feet, he caught the distinct smell of freshly made pancakes and hurried his gate slightly.

Peter could be a feral wolf when it came to El's pancakes.

Pushing open the door, he greeted a bounding Satchmo and returned Peter and El's good morning smiles with ease.

Setting himself down gently in his usual spot as El turned to grab him some juice, he shot a death look at the elder man as he chuckled quietly enough so his wife wouldn't hear him when Neal let out a soft hiss.

When his glare did nothing but to increase the quiet chuckling, Neal changed his tact and grinned mischievously.

"Gee, Peter…didn't the Bureau doctor tell you that you were only supposed to have fruit salad or muesli for breakfast from now on? Because of your high cholesterol he found last week?"

This was all said in a tone of great and deep concern, but Neal had to bite his lip to refrain from a bursting of laughter when El whipped around sharply.

"What's this?" she asked loudly, staring gravely at her husband.

And his massive plate of pancakes, doused with maple syrup.

Holding up his hands in a placating gesture, Peter flashed his most charming smile.

"El, honey…the doctor, he's new. He's just being over cautious, he-"

What the new doctor was, they never found out.

Peter was interrupted as El whipped the plate of pancakes out from under him with Ninja stealth, and began rooting in the refrigerator for fresh fruit, all the while loudly scolding her husband for failing to mention his check up.

Whilst her back was turned, Peter shot a look of deepest threat across the table at a now red in the face from suppressed laughing, Neal.

When the bowl of freshly diced fruit was placed in front of him with a further rebuke, Peter smiled weakly in acceptance.

"Thanks hon, this looks great."

"I want that at all eaten by the time Satchmo and I get back Peter, I mean it. Neal here will tell me if you throw it out, won't you Neal?"

Looking up at the agitated woman solemnly, Neal nodded immediately.

"Of course I will El; really. I can't believe Peter would be so lackadaisical about his own health."

"Me either" she agreed grimly, and with another cross look at her husband, she and the gleeful retriever swept from the kitchen.

When the front door closed, Neal was finally free to let out his laughter, which he did in great racking peals.

"You are so dead kid" came the angry growl across the table, which just made the young man laugh all the more.

The irritation Peter felt with his cheeky charge melted away as he watched him laugh, his boyishly handsome face alight with his characteristic devilment.

As much as he wanted the boy to toe the line and reach his full potential, he never wanted him to lose his… _Caffreyness._

As he rolled his eyes at the laughing Neal, he leant forwards to snag a pancake of the younger mans plate, only to have his hand vigorously slapped away.

"Neal!"

Smirking and moving the plate further out of reach, the young man leant back and laughed again.

"I will tell El if one golden morsel goes in your mouth Peter."

The elder man glowered across the dining table, and Neal held up his hands with a grin.

"I'm sorry Peter, it's just you've taught me that it's _never ok to lie_."

Peter couldn't help it.

He burst out laughing and surrendered himself to his bowl off fruit with a grin.

God damned kid.

Soon their amiable chatter was interrupted in the form of a galloping Satchmo bursting in, in an intense search of water.

After checking in with Neal about her husband's progress drawing an eye roll from the man as he answered sweetly that Peter had been as good as gold, El grinned and fixed herself a quick cup of coffee.

Joining the table, she chattered with the two for a while before draining her cup and announcing she had to go and get changed, giving Peter a meaningful look that wasn't missed by Neal.

He hated to admit it, but his heart sank slightly.

El and Peter usually went out and did various married couple _things_ on a Sunday like taking in a show El wanted to see, or going to see a game Peter was interested in.

Hanging around the house on his own wouldn't be fun, but Neal was determined not to be a baby about it.

Focusing on his own remaining dregs of coffee he smiled warmly at Elizabeth as she tousled his hair lightly on her way out of the kitchen, once again leaving Peter and Neal remaining at the dining table.

As Peter watched the boy finish his coffee, he took a deep breath and steeled himself.

"Ok Neal, I want you to go on upstairs now and-"

He was interrupted.

Of course he was.

"Aw come on Peter, why can't I just stay down here while you're gone, I won't break anything."

Sighing, the elder man tried again, determined not to give the kid a chance to inadvertently talk himself into trouble.

"Don't interrupt please" he scolded, and kindly pretended not to see the eye roll he got in response.

"Now, as I was saying…as today is the last day of your grounding, I would like you to go upstairs and write down all the reasons that led to you getting into this mess, what you learned from your punishment, and what you can do in the future to ensure that something like this never happens again. You have one hour, and then I will be up to check it and it had better be to my satisfaction, for your own sake."

He said all this very fast, in an attempt to lay the cards on the table.

It would be easier to fight with the kid when he knew exactly he was fighting against.

Predictably, Neal blanched and opened his mouth with startling immediacy to let forth a string of protests that would be more suitable at an election rally than a dining table.

"Peter you cannot be _serious._ How many times do we have to go over it? I get it, ok? I get it, I get it, _and I get it._ I'm not a mute; I can _tell_ you all of those things. I don't need to write them down. It's completely ridiculous. It's completely unnecessary, it's-"

"It's happening" Peter interrupted sternly, shooting a stern glare over the table.

Scowling, Neal folded his arms over his chest and let out a long wavering breath.

"This is so incredibly unfair" he fumed.

"No, what's incredible is you _still_ thinking it's a good idea to give me lip" Peter shot back.

Sighing loudly, Neal rolled his eyes but made no further comment.

His backside _did_ still sting after all.

Softening his tone somewhat, Peter tried again.

"Go on now; I'll be up in an hour. Just go and get it over and done with please Neal."

The kid made no movement other than to tighten his arms across his chest and shoot a scowl back at his handler.

Not wanting to get angry with the younger man, Peter tried a different tact.

"Neal, come on buddy. Don't disappoint me now, not when you've been doing so well" he cajoled.

It had the desired effect.

For Peter and El, and to an extent Mozzie, were the only people in the world that Neal George Caffrey gave a damn about disappointing.

They were the only people whose opinion of his opinion of him mattered to the self assured con.

Still though, the young man had absolutely _zero_ desire to spend his Sunday morning writing some asinine list about how he'd screwed up and what he'd learned from it, like some unruly ten year old.

So he too, changed tact.

Fixing Peter with the most morose eyes that the elder man had ever seen, he let his shoulders droop sadly.

"Haven't I been punished enough?" he asked softly, letting an unbelievable amount of dolefulness creep into his voice.

Knowing exactly where the kid was going with this, Peter suppressed a smile.

"It's not a punishment Neal" he began, but was cut off by the derisive snort his words garnered.

"It's _not"_ he repeated, "it's to try and make sure that I _never_ have to punish you like this _again._ It's genuinely for your own good whether you can see it that way or not, and I'd really appreciate it if you could just do as you were told please. You don't have to like it, but you do have to do it."

"Now" he added, letting a note of firmness enter his own voice.

He had a schedule to keep.

Weighing up his options quickly, Neal sighed.

He only had two, and they both knew it.

The easy way, or the hard way.

Letting out one last tragic sigh, he slowly stood and began to slouch his way from the kitchen, sniffling slightly in self pity as he went.

Reaching the handle of the door, he rolled his eyes when Peter's voice rang out behind him.

"One hour Neal, and don't you roll your eyes at me."

Deciding to make a hasty exit, the young man nodded and scampered out of the kitchen, leaving a now slightly smiling Peter in his wake.

Meandering into his room and reluctantly seating himself at his desk, Neal drew a piece of blank paper from the stack on the shelf and picked up a pen.

Progress from thereon out was more… stilted.

Neal, who was effortlessly loquacious, stared at the blank piece of paper with an equal blankness in an uncharacteristic bout of writers block.

After staring out the window for twenty minutes and swinging back on the hind legs of the chair lazily, he startled when he saw the clock.

Hurriedly refocusing his mind, he turned his attention solely on the maddeningly clean sheet of paper.

Deciding to just do as he was told for once and tell the truth, he eventually put pen to paper and soon the sheet was beginning to fill with his neat handwriting.

Before long he was chuckling to himself.

He may as well have some fun, he reasoned.

Prisoner's still get fun, he rationalised.

 _Peter,_

 _Please see below your completed instructions, which tentatively infringe on my constitutional right against self incrimination. I have included clear headings to assist with your failing eye sight._

Constitutional Rights Infringement Category One: "Reasons that led to me getting into this mess."

(1) I tampered with my anklet, and have been doing so for a….while (ish, not too long, honest)

(2) I put myself in danger because I didn't come to you for help

(3) I lied to you (lying by omission technically, which is just being quiet really, I'm a quiet guy)

(4) I put myself at risk of going back to prison (even though I _am_ in prison)

Constitutional Rights Infringement Category Two: "What I learned from my punishment."

(1) Not to tamper with my anklet (not even for "not too long")

(2) Not to put myself in danger

(3) Not to lie to you (even by omission, even if it is being quiet really, even if I'm a quiet guy)

(4) Not to put myself at risk of going back to prison (applies to when I get out of prison)

(5) You have impressive upper arm strength for a guy your age

(6) Not to get in trouble without El being at home, food is of a much better quality that way

(7)I need to leave more books at your place

Constitutional Rights Infringement Category Three: "What I can do in the future to ensure this doesn't happen again."

(1) Come to you

P.S. (I love you)…. (Just kidding, it _is_ an awfully good book/film though, you should read/watch it (probably best in your case to just watch it.)

(1) I'm really sorry

(2) It won't happen again

(3) Thanks for not murdering me

(4) You're not that bad, all things considered

(5) Can I download the new series of Antique Roadshow when you're gone?

 _Yours faithfully, (even if under duress)_

Neal George Caffrey

Neal had just finished his signature with a flourish when the knock came on the door.

Looking down at what he had written, he suddenly felt a small bout of panic.

What if Peter thought he was being disrespectful?

Sighing as he realised there was nothing he could do about it now, he called out in a quiet voice for the older man to come in.

Entering, Peter felt relief when he saw the kid at his desk, one small victory.

Striding over to him, he placed a warm hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him.

"How did you get on bud?"

Squirming somewhat in response, which Peter took as a bad sign, Neal merely glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him.

"Hand it over kiddo."

Squirming even more, Neal bit his lip in apprehension, but did as he was told.

Taking it from the kid's outstretched hand, Peter nodded his approval.

"Good. Now, whilst I read this, why don't you go on and get freshened up in the bathroom."

Neal glanced down at himself in confusion.

"Why? What's wrong with me?" he demanded, feeling slightly hurt.

"Nothing" Peter chuckled, "but just do as you're told."

Rolling his eyes but being glad to be out of the man's direct line of vision whilst he read his paper, Neal nodded, albeit in confusion, and disappeared into the en suite, and Peter settled down in the vacated chair and began to read.

As Neal brushed his teeth for the third time, he was alarmed to hear muted noises from his room.

Straining his ears to hear through the thick walls, his heart sank as they caught what appeared to be the low growling sounds that could only be emanating from Peter.

Forcibly hitting himself in the forehead, Neal cursed his stupidity.

Why couldn't he have just been polite and to the point in that stupid letter, why did he _always_ have to have the last word.

Peter was going to kill him.

Glancing around the bathroom nervously as the sounds from his adjoining bedroom increased, Neal sighed.

There was no way out.

Squaring his shoulders, and his opinion deciding very bravely to just face the music, he tentatively opened the bathroom door and strode out.

A split second later he felt his jaw drop an inch and his heart make up the distance it had plummeted.

The noises he had heard _had_ indeed come from Peter.

A buckled over with _laughter,_ Peter.

Spying Neal enter out of the corner of his eye, the agent composed himself as best he could, and rose from the chair.

Still chuckling, he made his way over to a now grinning Neal, and playfully and gently, cuffed him around the ear.

"You are _the_ most incorrigible brat I've ever met" he rebuked half-heartedly with a matching grin.

"Thank you" Neal retorted, as he gave a mockingly theatrical bow.

Rolling his eyes but still letting out the odd chuckle, Peter again placed a warm hand on the kids shoulder.

"Ok you menace, cheekiness aside, am I to take it from this note that you understand that what you did was wrong and that you will never pull such a stunt again?"

Looking up into the elder man's face, Neal was surprised by the quickness of his own answer.

"I understand why it was wrong and I'll never do it again" he replied, one of the few replies that he ever gave where he didn't think about it first.

Smiling his warm smile, Peter clapped Neal on the shoulder proudly.

"Good man Neal, good man."

Unashamedly basking in the praise, the younger man beamed up at the older one.

"So, can I download Antiques Roadshow?" he suddenly asked eagerly, not feeling like reading and not wanting to be bored all day whilst Peter and El were out.

"Sorry kiddo no can do" Peter replied simply, biting his cheek as the smile fell from Neal's face.

"Oh… ok" he murmured quietly, "I guess I'll just read then, if that's ok?"

"Nope, can't do that either" came the reply, causing the already crestfallen Neal to balk even further.

"You're making me clean aren't you?" he asked glumly, briefly remembering the time Peter had made him completely clean out his basement as punishment for some other caper.

Clearly recalling the same memory, Peter couldn't help but let a chuckle escape him.

Neal could be flat out adorable when he wanted to be.

When the boy looked up at him in confused despondency, Peter decided to put him out of his misery.

"You can't watch TV or read" he said, as suddenly fished around in jeans pocket and held up three what looked like tickets of some description "because El and I are taking you to that exhibition you gave me so much grief about yesterday. A friend of mine knows a guy and I got tickets sorted last night."

Silence ensued.

It ensued for a quite a while before Peter's laughter broke it.

Laughter at the rarest of all rare events.

Neal Caffrey was speechless.

For a minute or so anyway, which the elder man savoured.

"But" he eventually spluttered, "but…it's over?"

Smiling at the kid's amazement, Peter shrugged slightly.

"It's over in DC" he corrected, "it is just beginning in Boston."

Another speechless moment ensued.

"Peter…that's over a seven hour drive" Neal murmured incredulously.

Whilst he would gladly have _walked_ to Boston to see the exhibit, he really couldn't expect Peter and El to make that kind of a trip.

"I know" Peter said cheerfully, "El's already made devilled ham sandwiches for the car."

Carefully ignoring the latter piece of information, Neal looked up at Peter in obvious confusion.

"Why would you drive all the way to Boston so I could see an exhibit? I thought I was grounded? What about my anklet?"

Once again placing a hand on Neal's shoulder, Peter looked down at him fondly.

"Question one: because, you deserve it. All things considered you've been great about this week, and overall I'm really pleased with your attitude. Question two: you are grounded, you're not to leave mine or El's sight, and I mean that. Question three: as for the anklet…" Peter looked slightly sheepish for a moment, "if anyone asks we were following a lead, I've already cleared it. We're off work tomorrow anyway, so it won't matter that we're not back until all hours."

Neal again felt his mouth fall open.

This was surreal.

He had expected to spend his Sunday moping around the house, and all of a sudden it was turning into the best Sunday he could possibly have hoped for.

"So I'm not in trouble anymore?" he asked, hearing the wondering quality of his own voice.

Squeezing his shoulder, Peter nodded.

"You're not in trouble anymore" he confirmed happily.

Neal felt himself inflate with considerable and unhindered happiness, until a thought crossed his mind that made his face fall.

Seeing this, Peter tilted his head slightly and stared at him.

"What's up?"

Shuffling slightly, Neal merely squirmed on his spot and didn't answer.

"Come on kid" Peter encouraged, "what's the problem?"

Reddening slightly, Neal sighed realising, as always, disclosure was inevitable.

"It's just… we probably won't get back until the early morning and umm…well, it's just…"

Peter grinned.

"It's just awfully late for a spanking?" he supplied knowingly, his eyes twinkling.

Scowling somewhat at the perceptiveness, Neal nodded slowly… but stopped moving his head immediately as an awful realisation dawned on him.

"You're spanking me before we go aren't you?" he squeaked, his earlier happiness growing legs and hightailing it from the room.

Laughing slightly again, Peter nodded.

"Sure am" he replied easily, biting the inside of his gum to refrain from completely dissolving into laughter at the horrified look crossing the young man's face.

Seven hours each way on a stinging backside was surely an earthly form of hell.

Deciding again to put the kid out of his misery, Peter took a firm hold of his wrist and gently guided him towards the bed, intensely relieved that the young man, for once, saw fit to cooperate.

Plopping himself down in his usual perch, he quickly put a still horrified looking Neal over his knee, and wrapped and arm around his waist.

"Ready Neal?" he asked, grinning freely now that the kid couldn't see his face.

The muffled "yes Peter" was so mournful; the elder man couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Always with the dramatics.

Raising his hand, he quickly laid five relatively gentle swats down across the kid's backside before pulling him up off his knee and setting him back on his feet and standing up himself.

It was certainly the first eight second spanking he'd ever dished out to the younger man.

Not even feeling the slightest of slight stings in jeans clad backside, Neal looked at Peter in complete confusion.

"What was that?"

"That was your last spanking" Peter grinned.

Neal was beginning to feel so familiar with confusion that it didn't even affect him that much anymore.

"I don't get it?" he murmured softly, looking to the floor in an attempt to focus his mind.

Laughing, Peter gently tipped the boy's head up to level eye contact between them.

"I told you, I'm proud of you and how you handled this week. But, I _said_ I was going to spank you every day for a week, and I meant it. But…I never said how long or how hard. See where good behaviour gets you?"

Neal began to feel a grin cross his face as he digested this.

"So…that's it?" he asked, needing solid clarification.

He would have be a good lawyer he thought to himself briefly.

"That's it" Peter clarified genially, "unless of course… _you_ think I need to put you back across my knee and do the job properly?" he teased.

Backing away hastily and holding his hands up in defence, Neal shook his head vehemently.

"No no…that _won't_ be necessary" he said firmly.

"Thought not" Peter chuckled.

Looking at the young man in front of him, the agent was thoroughly relieved the week was at an end and found himself genuinely looking forward to just having a good time with his wife and the kid.

"Come on now" he chided, "we need to get going. Grab whatever you want for the ride, and then meet me at the car in twenty minutes tops, ok?"

Beaming once more, Neal nodded eagerly.

Smiling, Peter began to make his way out of the room to see how El was getting along.

He made it as far as the door before a voice stopped him.

"Peter?"

Turning immediately, the agent found Neal right in front him.

Kid walked like a cat.

"Yeah buddy?"

Contemplating his words for a moment, Neal remained silent and Peter waited with his habitual patience.

When no adequate words came to mind, the younger man abandoned them and instead in a very un-Neal like manner, threw himself into Peter's torso for a hug.

Slightly startled, but recovering quickly, Peter wrapped his arms around the kid's slender frame and chuckled as he felt him bury his face in his chest.

It was this burying that caused the boy's next words to be muffled, but the agent's trained ears caught them anyway.

"I wasn't really kidding about the P.S."

…..

TBC

…

A/N: Ok, so no stern spanking in this scene but by the end of the week I felt like Neal earned a bit of slack! There will be plenty more cross Peter scenes to come however so fret not!

Thanks for reading guys, please let me know if there is anything in particular you would like to see.

Credit to "Guest" from December 28th for the list/letter suggestion! Loved it so decided to throw it in there, not my usual thing so please let me know what you thought!


	11. Sins of the Father

Peter and El laughed as Neal zipped between exhibit after exhibit stall at the museum, completely unable to stay still for any more than five minutes at any given time.

Slipping her hand into her husbands, Elizabeth gazed up at him fondly, resting her head on his broad shoulder.

"This was so sweet of you Peter; would you just look how _happy_ he is."

Smiling as he watched the Neal chatting animatedly to a man who was clearly a fellow artist, Peter shrugged slightly.

"I must be getting soft in my old age" he grinned.

Rolling her eyes at the man's modesty, El checked her watch.

"Sweetie, it's getting late. We should really get going."

Glancing down at his own wrist, Peter had to agree, but spying the look on Neal's face when he was getting an autograph from another man whom he supposed was a famous artist, he snorted.

"Wait till he's done over there El, or we'll have to drag him out kicking and screaming."

Elizabeth smiled her easy agreement, and the husband and wife did one last tour of the stately building before doubling back to collect their parolee.

Ten or so minutes later, and all three were bundled back into the Burke family saloon, beginning the long drive back to DC.

Peter smiled warmly as Neal began to chatter non-stop about the various aspects of the exhibit, his face alight with happiness as he spoke.

The elder man didn't pretend to understand a single word he was saying, but as long as the kid was happy, well… he was happy too.

If Neal said thank you once, he said it a hundred times, despite both Elizabeth and Peter's assurances that it was their pleasure.

Looking back at the excitable young man, El realised it really _had_ been their pleasure.

Neal was a joy to have around when he was both happy, and behaving.

The former was an easily achievable state of affairs, the latter…not so much.

An hour or so later and as the car trundled on, Neal's chattering began to wane and his eyes begin to droop with tiredness.

Glancing back and having anticipated this, Elizabeth instructed him to take the blanket out of the bag she had packed and to cover himself.

His protests that he wasn't tired were quickly cut short at the warning look she gave him, and he obediently fished in the bag for the thick woollen blanket and draped it over himself.

When Peter glanced in the mirror five minutes later, Neal was already fast asleep, his head resting against the window.

"You really think of everything huh?" he murmured quietly to his wife, grateful that she had thought ahead about the kid being tired after such a long drive.

Hours passed uneventfully as Elizabeth had also succumbed to sleep, leaving Peter humming quietly to the radio.

As the car clock slipped into the am, he was relieved when they were nearing DC and home.

An hour or so later and the agent wearily pulled the car up in front of the Burke household, and glanced over at his sleeping wife and back at the frame of the sleeping Neal, he sighed.

He hated having to wake either of them up when they looked so restful.

Gently nudging El awake, he dropped a quick kiss on her head as she sleepily opened her eyes and began to register her surroundings.

Turning his attention to Neal, he quickly opened the back seat and began to shake him softly awake.

"Come on Neal, we're home. Come on buddy, wake up now" he cajoled, laughing at the scowl that crossed the kids face in response.

He positively despised being woken up, no matter what time of the day it was.

Satisfied that Neal was beginning to stir himself, Peter busied himself with dragging the picnic type basket El had packed out the boot of the car.

Snapping the boot down shut, he was relieved when he saw that both El and Neal were out of the car and stretching wearily.

Fishing around for his house keys, he began to lead the way into the house, before realising he'd left a package of devilled ham sandwiches in the car.

Grimacing at the thoughts of the whining that would explode from Neal if he had to sit in a car that had hosted the potent meat for twenty four hours, he decided against leaving them there.

Draping an arm around El, he turned to the straggling Neal and called out to him, tossing the car keys gently at him which he caught deftly.

"Grab the sandwiches from the front seat son, would you. Otherwise they'll reek the car out."

Balking at the very thought of it, Neal obediently turned back towards the car.

He didn't get any further than two feet, before he was halted by a voice.

A voice that belonged to a previously unseen man, that stepped out of the shadows of the night covered Burke porch.

The voice had a cold edge to it, but yet seemed to carry a weighty degree of indifference in its lazy drawl.

Peter didn't need to see the face, to identify the voice.

His blood had run cold, and his temper and rage flared at the first syllable it had uttered.

Placing El protectively behind him, and glancing back over his shoulder to gage Neal's exact whereabouts, he looked murderously into the face of the unwelcome and uninvited intruder.

As the words registered in his brain, it took all the will power he had not reach for the firearm that habitually rested in his inner jacket compartment.

"Oh, I think you'll find, Agent Burke, that _he_ …is _my_ son."

A shocked silence ensued in the immediate aftermath of the voices declaration.

Snarling, Peter took in the appearance of the man who had abandoned Neal.

The man who had turned up in his life years later, and sent the boy reeling.

The man who had let him take the fall for _murder_.

The man whom he had distrusted on sight, hated on instinct, and hunted with experience.

James Bennett looked surprisingly well kempt for a man successfully dodging the wide net of an Interpol search.

Finding his voice, after once again casting an eye back to both El and Neal to ascertain their safety, Peter glared at the man who was so casually adorning his property.

"Come to hand yourself in, Bennett?" he snarled, surreptitiously beginning to reach for his gun.

Laughing his condescending laugh, the man shook his head with contempt.

"No no, Burke. That's not the reason for this…visit" he crooned, with a maddening flippancy.

Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise, Peter reached further for his weapon.

"No? Then what _have_ you come here for?"

A chilling and callous chuckle wafted over the three, as the man calmly considered his response.

His considerations didn't take long.

With a jerk of his head over Peter's shoulder, towards the paled and gaping Neal, James smiled a cruel and calculating smile.

"I'm _here_ Agent Burke…for my boy."

….

TBC

…


	12. Tit for Tat

Peter felt the night air work its way through his tonsils as James's words hung in the air. Behind him, his ears caught the faint strains of a groan that came from Neal and a small gasp that escaped Elizabeth.

Fighting hard to remain calm, and to keep his hand _away_ from his gun, he thought rapidly.

His federal training kicking in, he knew he had to mitigate the situation.

"El, Neal…go on inside the house please" he instructed firmly, making sure his voice betrayed no hint of the fear that was spilling around his gut.

Neither of them moved.

Gritting his teeth, and being unsurprised by Neal not moving, but hoping El would hear the undercurrent of urgency in his voice, he tried again.

"El…please, go on inside and bring Neal with you."

This time, his shocked wife jarred into action. Stepping back, she threw an arm around a paled and gaping Neal, and gently steered him towards the house.

Peter quickly fell into step beside them, effectively forming a barrier between the two and the silently watching, and eerily smiling, Bennett.

The smile merely increased when El threw him a look of deepest and scathing loathing.

Before Peter could usher the pair into the house, James had called out, his voice carrying the same loaded quality as before.

"Be seeing _you_ soon son."

Snarling, Peter gently propelled his wife and the kid into the house with increased haste, and quickly shut the door behind him.

Feeling a wave of tension leave him at the thoughts of the vermin on his porch having to physically get through him to get to them, he turned to face the man who within minutes, had caused such upset.

Again, relying on his training to get him through this bizarre situation, he forced himself to think like an agent.

"James Bennett, you are under arrest for the murder of-"

Another chilling laugh cut him off, raising the hairs on the back of his neck once again in the process.

"Oh no, I don't think so…" James chuckled with a maddening superiority, "not unless of course, you want your little adopted puppy to join me in the big house?"

Peter stared silently as the taunting words registered dimly in the peripherals of his mind.

"What are you talking about?" he eventually growled, having a sickeningly good idea just what was being insinuated.

Leaning against the porch frame, the unwelcome visitor crossed his arms and smiled smugly.

"Oh _come now_ , Agent Burke…you're a clever man, you clearly have my boy thinking you're the greatest thing on two legs… _surely_ you can figure it out?"

Resisting the urge to calmly reach out and choke every single last morsel of oxygen from the man in front of him, Peter strove to remain calm.

This man was dangerous, more dangerous than even he knew, and the slightest of wrong moves could clearly bring all manner of hell down on Neal.

"You have something on him?" he demanded.

Nodding his head slowly and with a contrasting benign smile, James considered his next words carefully.

"Yes…I do. I have enough on that offspring of mine to send him back to the little adoption shelter line up you picked him out from, for a _very_ long time."

Peter's limbs vibrated with rage at the callous and indifferent way the low life trespassing on his property was speaking about Neal, and he began to see a red mist descend in front of his eyes, obscuring all reason.

Fighting hard, he pushed away the mist, and steadied his breathing.

"Your own son…you…you would do that to your own son?" he asked in disgust, looking the man up and down in uncharacteristic disdain.

Snorting slightly, the fugitive shrugged his shoulders.

"He's clearly made his bed here with… you _people_ " he snarled, "so he's just a means to an end now."

Barely able to believe his ears, Peter shook his head in unadulterated contempt.

"You make me sick" he said softly, never meaning a handful of words more vehemently.

"I'll bear that in mind" James sneered, "now, are you ready to talk business?"

Peter blinked.

"Business?"

Letting out a dramatic sigh, James threw his eyes up to heaven.

"Yes Peter, _business._ I've just told you that the kid is a means to an end, and if he comes through on that end, none of you will either see or hear from me again and the sprog stays out of maximum security."

Paling, the federal agent thought rapidly, all the while keeping a careful eye on Bennett.

Sighing, he realised that his options were limited.

Hughes wouldn't hear of cutting Neal any kind of slack should even the slightest hint of prior crimes with hard evidence cross his desk.

"How do I even know you have anything on Neal?" he shot at the silent James.

Grinning, the man slipped a hand into his jacket pocket.

"Thought you would ask that Burke" he crooned, fishing out a small voice recorder.

Peter eyed the device silently, and as soon as the play button was pushed, Neal's voice began to fill the night air.

Neal's clearly…merry, but not quite completely drunk, voice.

The air suddenly seemed to be difficult to force down his windpipe as the conversation between James and Neal played out, with the kid, in response to his "fathers" urging, recounted crime after crime, and heist after heist that he pulled off before his incarceration.

The tape went on for what seemed like an eternity, and to Peter's heart wrenching horror, ended with Neal's voice clearly being constricted with unshed tears.

"Thanks…dad, it's been good to tell everyone everything."

Smirking, James shut the tape off and eyed Peter with an almost sociopathic satisfaction.

"Amazing what a kid will spill with the right prodding, isn't it?"

Silence hung between the two men as Peter struggled to get himself under control.

"You bastard" he bit out quietly, "you complete and utter bastard."

Chuckling, James shrugged his shoulders.

"Can't deny that I suppose, now, I'll ask you again. _Are you ready to talk business?"_

His head was nodding in the affirmative before he knew it, and he heard his voice saying a bitter "yes" before he could think about it.

What choice did he have?

"Thought so" James smirked. "Now, how about we go inside and get comfortable?"

Shaking his head vigorously, Peter's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"This is as close as you're getting to Neal" he growled, "and even this is too damn close."

Raising his eyebrows in feigned surprise, James tilted his head curiously at snarling and seething Peter.

"But…if he's in there, and I'm out here, how will I tell him the plan?"

Grinding his teeth and reminding himself that if he shot the man right now, somehow and someway, a tape of the conversation he had just heard would wind up in FBI HQ by morning, Peter took in a deep breath.

"What plan is that then?" he ground out, feeling his heart pound frantically against his rib cage.

Silence ensued as James ran appraising eyes over the clearly apoplectic agent, before grinning his almost manic grin.

"The one Peter, where the boy breaks into the Smithsonian, and fetches me my retirement package."

….

TBC

…


	13. Dependently Independent

Peter stood alone on his porch, his mind spinning so hard it sent a wave of nausea radiating throughout his gut. The piece of indeterminable filth that was James Bennett had since melted into the night with a final disgusting wink and a nudge.

The agent leant his head against the cool brick of his home and fought against the retching heaving that was building up inside him.

How in the _hell_ was he going to get Neal out of _this_ one?

Realising with a jolt that El and the kid were probably at their wits end, he suddenly scurried into his home, taking care to triple lock the door behind him and set the alarm.

His wife was perched on the couch beside a clammy looking Neal, with her arm draped around him and trying to force a cup of steaming tea into him.

They both looked up with the same look of horror based curiosity as he threw himself into the nearby armchair.

"What did he say?" Neal croaked out, looking at Peter with those scared blue eyes that made the elder man want to forget that murder was illegal, and strangle the vermin that had caused so much turmoil.

He looked at the kid steadily for a moment, warring with himself.

The parental instinct in him wanted to reassure Neal that the man didn't, as it transpired, want anything, and was gone. The intellectual part of him knew that, in order to get the boy out of the mess he was in, he needed to know.

Taking a deep breath, he shot a look at his wife who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Neal" he began gently, "buddy, do you remember…having a little bit too much to drink one night with your…father, when we didn't know about his past?"

The kid nodded slowly, a horrible dawning of realisation beginning to spark in his eyes.

Peter took a deep breath.

This was going to be hard for the young man to hear.

He felt a rage flare up in him and vowed that somehow, no matter what it took, he would take the scum that was James Bennett down.

"You remember talking about heists you've pulled, most of which the FBI doesn't know about?"

Neal nodded again, turning another shade of white that should frankly never adorn a human being.

Peter felt a wrench in his gut.

"I'm so sorry buddy…but he, well…he recorded it…everything you said, all the jobs you did."

El let out a small gasp of horror at his words and tightened her hold on a now impossibly ashen faced Neal.

Peter closed his eyes briefly in despair as the burning gaze of hurt and betrayal danced in the boy's eyes.

"Why?" he eventually rasped out, "why is he doing this to me?"

El tightened her already crab like hold some more.

Peter reached out and placed a hand on the kid's knee.

"Leverage" the elder man said bitterly. "He wants you to" he took a deep, steadying breath, "to break into the… Smithsonian and steal a Cassatt.

The impossibly wide eyes staring back at him widened even further.

"A _Cassatt_? The _Smithsonian_? I…it's….that's not possible Peter!"

The spluttering panicked speech was hard to hear. It was so unlike Neal's suave tones.

"I know buddy…I know. He's devolving, he's desperate. He needs cash to fund the rest of his life on the run."

Peter clocked the look of terror on his wife's face, and the pit of rage in his stomach intensified.

"Smithsonian is only a couple of hundred miles out of my radius" Neal mumbled feebly.

The agent blanched.

"That doesn't matter. You are _not_ breaking in anywhere."

The kid blinked at him.

"I assume he's threatening to turn that tape over to the FBI if I don't?"

Peter nodded slowly, and tried not to break at the croaking quality of the kid's voice.

"I'm sorry son, but…he is."

The look of hurt confusion was heart wrenching to see.

"Well then…I have to" Neal stated matter of factly, albeit with a tone that betrayed his true feelings of fear.

Peter shook his head firmly.

"Under no circumstances Neal."

The young man stared back at him incredulously.

"I can't go back to prison Peter…please, I can't….please…"

He trailed off and dropped his head into his hands, his tousled curls falling over his pained face.

El shot her husband a look of despair as she spoke softly to the distressed ex con.

The elder of the two men deftly reached out and placed a gentle thumb under the kids chin, carefully turning his face upwards.

"You are _not_ going back to prison Neal. I promise. I won't allow it."

Neal let out a hollow laugh.

"You can't promise that. If I don't do what…he asks, he will turn that tape over without a second thought and I'm looking at consecutive sentences."

Peter nodded slowly, that was true. There was more than enough on that tape for Neal to spend potentially the rest of his life behind bars, but he would be damned if that godforsaken tape ever saw the FBI light of day.

"Neal…have I ever lied to you?"

The young man looked at him steadily before answering.

"No."

The elder man nodded.

"Have I ever broken a promise to you?"

Another steady gaze.

"Never."

The elder man nodded yet again.

"Then believe me when I tell you this. I don't know how, and I don't give a damn what it takes…but I _will_ figure out a way to get you out of this."

Both husband and wife stared at the young man between them for a moment as he digested the agent's words.

"I believe you."

Peter exhaled deeply in relief and reached out and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately whilst El squeezed his shoulders.

"Good. We need to figure a way out of this, but not right now. It's the middle of the morning and we're all exhausted. We have the day off work; we'll wake up tomorrow and think of this like any other operation, and come up with a plan. Ok?"

El nodded, but the kid shook his head vigorously.

"No, I'm not tired. You guys go on, I'm going to grab a coffee and start thinking this out."

Peter stood.

"No. Not a chance. You're exhausted, and you're going to bed. Now."

El smiled a small smile, and with a peck to the boy's head she left the two men to it as she went upstairs.

"No, I need to think about what to do! I'm not tired, I couldn't sleep. You go on up. I'll be fine."

Peter allowed a moderately stern expression to cross his face.

"Neal, I said no. You've been up all hours and have been through the ringer. You need some sleep. I promise you, we'll work this out, but tomorrow. Come on now, up you get."

The tousled curls shook as the younger man shook his head stubbornly.

"No."

Sighing, Peter leant forwards and gently lifted the exhausted boy up from the couch by the elbow.

Spinning him in the direction of the stairs, he landed one swat across his backside.

"Bed. Now."

Squawking in surprise, Neal rounded on a completely unperturbed Peter with narrowed eyes.

As he took in the now very stern expression on the elder man's face and the very faint sting in his butt he bit back the words he was about to utter.

"I guess I'm gonna head up" he murmured sheepishly.

Smiling softly, Peter reached out and ruffled the kid's hair.

"Good. Now go, I'll bring you up some water."

Nodding, Neal turned and scarpered up the stairs without another word.

Sighing an exhausted sigh and with a mind full of worry, Peter ambled into the kitchen to fill a glass.

Glancing at the clock he winced when he saw it was now four am.

He felt his jaw tighten when he thought about how that piece of filth had ruined Neal's day out.

The glass slammed as the rage spread through him.

He would have given anything to have been Neal's biological father, to have raised him.

He was a gift.

And that low life…that good for nothing waste of space had squandered and abused that gift.

He spent nearly half an hour leaning on the kitchen counter trying to control the viscous rage that surged throughout him.

Growling to himself, he tried to regain his composure as he eventually flicked off the lights and set off upstairs.

It wouldn't do for the kid to see him riled up.

Padding quietly on the carpeted steps, he smiled as he spied El sitting in their bed with a book waiting patiently for him.

Gesturing to the water and to Neal's room, he set off down the hall.

Knocking gently in case the boy was getting changed, he waited outside the closed door patiently.

Hearing nothing after a few moments, he frowned, and knocked again.

Nothing.

Sighing as the thoughts of the kid being in a sulk began to infiltrate his mind, he tried one last time accompanied with a "Neal?"

Again, nothing.

Groaning to himself, he nudged the door open cautiously.

"Neal, if you're in a sulk because-"

The rest of his words died in his throat.

The wind blew the curtains lazily in the pre dawn air.

The bed was made, and empty.

A small piece of yellow paper caught his eye.

Snatching it up in haste, his eyes closed in despair as the familiar neat penmanship shone up at him.

" _Peter, El, this is my mess. I can't risk you being dragged into it_. _I need to figure this out for myself, that way if anyone gets hurt it won't be you guys. Please understand. No matter how this ends, you gave me something I've never had and something a prison cell can never take away. A family."_

Neal.

With a rapid heartbeat Peter spied a piece of paper jutting out from underneath the pillow. Tugging it out, he felt a corresponding tug on his heartstrings.

Staring back up at him, was a perfect portrait of himself smiling happily with his arm draped around El's shoulders, and his other hand resting loosely on Neal's shoulder whilst Satchmo lounged happily at their feet.

Staring at the billowing curtains, Peter felt his stomach and heart clench simultaneously and viciously as he blinked impatiently at the curious wetness that was suddenly housed in his brown eyes.

"Damnit Neal."

A/N: "just-a-scrivener" thank you! I made quite an embarrassing oversight, mixing up my NCIS and my White Collar settings. WC is indeed set in New York, and not DC. I've attempted to gradually ease that error by Neal pointing out that the Smithsonian is hopelessly out of his radius. Thanks for spotting that!

As always, please let me know what you think and thank you all for your patience with the large break in updates, it's thankfully back to business as usual now and thank you for your good luck wishes!


	14. Operation Override

Neal sat alone on the park bench as the cool wind ran through his hair. Dropping his head into his hands he once again thanked his lucky stars that Mozzie had kept a back up of the encryption key that manipulated the tracking data from his anklet. As far as the FBI knew, he was at Peter's house.

The mere thought of Peter made the young man's heart quicken. He and El would know by now that he'd done a runner. He groaned in the seclusion of the leafy park at the look that would have crossed Peter's face. He could practically hear his _damnit Neal_ in his head.

He studied the dark soil beneath his feet.

He was doing the right thing.

He repeated this mantra over and over in his head as he sat.

Peter and El couldn't be involved in this. Peter had already bent so many rules to keep him out of prison. He couldn't ask him to do anymore, and he definitely couldn't ask El to stand by and watch him do anymore.

He swallowed down the irritating lump in his throat with impatience. The thought of only being able to see Peter and El through three inch thick Perspex for the next twenty years made his head swoon. Bile rose up in his throat as he thought how far he'd come to finally achieving some normalcy. He had a normal, happy life just within his grasp.

Now it was going to be snatched away.

His eyelids fluttered with self directed derision as he thought of the surprise he'd been working on.

He was going to tell Peter and El that after he'd served out the remainder of his sentence, he wanted to go college, to be an art teacher.

He wanted a new life.

Groaning, he realised how stupid he'd been.

People like him didn't get new lives; they got the same life, over and over again.

A rustle in the bushes behind him and the artificial cry of a non native bird altered him to a presence other than his own.

Smiling to himself slightly, he tilted his head back.

"Hey Moz."

Clambering out from the shrubbery, the little guy heaved himself down on the bench beside his long time friend, and studied his face in the now decidedly dawn light.

"You look like hell."

Snorting, Neal nodded his agreement.

"Feel like it."

The two men fell into a brief silence, each lost to their own thoughts.

Mozzie broke it.

"We'll get the tape Neal, I promise."

Those few simple words from a trusted friend eased the burden in the younger mans chest the minute his brain registered them.

"I know Moz…" he took a breath…."thank you."

The little guy nodded his understanding of the meaning behind the few words and tried to keep the burning rage he felt for James Bennett off his face.

For the orphan, a father that would use and threaten his own son like that was the lowest of the low. No matter it would take, the street kid turned con man wouldn't let Neal be hurt any further by that scumbag.

He frowned as he ran through the embryonic plan that had begun to flitter through his mind the minute he had received the distressed text from the kid beside him.

Draping an arm around the young man's shoulder, he gently guided him to his feet.

"Where are we going?" Neal asked quietly, and it wounded Mozzie to hear the quivering uncertain tone in the usually confident kid's voice.

"Well, it's Monday technically, so…we're going to Tuesday I guess."

Neal stopped short.

"Peter knows about Tuesday."

Mozzie snorted.

"No, the suit knows about Thursday _pretending_ to be Tuesday."

Neal barely managed the requisite smile.

He just simply couldn't share Mozzie's enthusiasm for evading Peter.

Embarrassing though it might be to admit, at this very moment, he…well, he _wanted_ Peter.

Dropping his gaze down to the ground as he felt a flush cross his cheeks at the self admission, he allowed himself to be steered from the park and numbly registered being bundled into a cab, to begin the journey to Thursday.

Thirty or so minutes later and he and his long time confidant were safely ensconced in Mozzie's bizarre hideout.

Forcing a cup of steaming coffee into the younger man's hand, the older of the duo sat down across from him and cradled his own cup.

"I have an idea" he offered quietly, with a more sombre expression than Neal had ever seen him wear. Plus, he hadn't heard one conspiracy theory in the hour they'd been together, a personal best. His heart swelled as he realised in that moment that the man across from him would do anything to help him out of the situation he was in.

"It can't involve Peter or El" came the quiet response.

Nodding, Mozzie held his cup a little tighter.

"So, we need to contact your father, and-"

"James" Neal interjected firmly.

Looking at the puzzled glance that was being sent his way, Neal blinked in an attempt to brush away the image that came to mind when Mozzie said father.

It certainly wasn't James Bennett.

"Call him James" he explained quietly.

Nodding his understanding, and burning with very carefully suppressed rage, Mozzie resisted the urge to squeeze the kid.

It hurt, but he knew…he knew that the suit was beginning to take the role he'd sort of half played in the kid's life, and even though it hurt, he knew it was the best thing for Neal.

"Ok, so we need to contact James" he continued. "The plan is basic, and plays off his fear of being ripped off, you with me?"

The dark head nodded and bobbed in agreement.

"You're going to contact him, and get him to meet you at an abandoned lot I have access to. Tell him to bring the recording, or the deal is off before it begins. You're going to tell him that you need transport to DC, that the suit has burned all your aliases. You're going to tell him your anklet is out of commission, and that he's going to have to go _with_ you to DC because you can never come back to New York if you do what he's demanding."

Mozzie paused for a well needed breath.

"You tell him that if he refuses, you'll go alone. You'll go alone, and do the job alone, and take the profits alone. That you'll _need_ those profits if he turns over that tape, and therefore he gets squat. He'll come. His greed won't let him do anything else. You'll tell him that you're on the run from Peter, and you can't delay, understand?"

Neal nodded mutely.

"When he comes, you'll demand to hear the tape for yourself. When he takes out his recorder, you'll refuse. Tell him that your player, which I'll give you, has a program that can identify if a copy has been made of a tape, or if the tape being played is an original, and that you're not stealing so much as a toothpick if there are copies out there.. When you play the tape in your recorder, it will erase it. Completely. It will also write over it with a pitch perfect voice match of _James_ confessing to several unsolved, federal crimes in Chicago. Understand?"

Neal gaped somewhat. Even for Mozzie, this was amazing in such a short space of time.

"Where is this magic recorder?" he rasped out.

Smiling, the little guy rooted around in his pockets and withdrew a relatively small, but obviously expensive, device.

Handing it over, he smiled some more.

"It's already pre-programmed to wipe the first tape it plays. When you're playing it, it will erase in real time, meaning that James won't have a clue. It was also re-record in real time, meaning that when the recording he has finishes, it will already be completely replaced with the doctored tape. Then, the tables are turned, and _we_ are the ones with the tape and _he_ is the one who needs to get the hell out of town."

Neal gaped some more.

"But…the feds… their voice analysis techs?"

Mozzie snorted.

"Their equipment and analysis is two years behind the quality of this recording."

A glimmer of light was beginning to shine in Neal's bright blue eyes as he digested this.

"So there's a chance?"

Mozzie couldn't help it, this time he _did_ reach out and squeeze the kid's knee.

"If he hasn't made any recordings, and if he's as much of a bastard as we both know he _is,_ he'll play the tape to force you to go to DC, and then… it's over."

The younger man felt the tight compression in his chest he'd been feeling for the past few hours deflate slightly.

"So…I just have to get him to play the tape in this recorder?" he asked, examining the small device in his hand.

Mozzie nodded.

"Just like any other con Neal, you've got this. You've just got to play the game, just this one last time."

Neal looked up.

"Last time?" he echoed.

The elder of the two smiled a rare and true smile.

"I know you want out of the life kid…what you've got… with the Suit and Mrs Suit, it's a good thing. You should hold onto it."

Neal stared.

"Since when were you so omniscient?" he croaked, not knowing exactly what to say in light of his apparent transparency.

Rolling his eyes, the elder man got to his feet. He wasn't ready, in that moment, to deal with the idea of a law abiding Neal.

"Ok, so I assume you still have a number for him? He would expect you to slip Peter, and go solo. We need to feed that idea."

Neal nodded, and rummaged around in his brain for the cell number that not so long ago had seemed like a gift.

Now…now, it just seemed like a curse.

Accepting the burner phone Mozzie was handing him, he transferred the number from his mind to the keypad and held his breath as his finger hovered over the call button.

Pressing it with his eyes closed, his heart thumped as the dial tone sounded.

After four rings, it connected.

"Didn't take you too long son, I'm impressed."

Neal's heart clenched painfully as he heard the callous tones, barely concealing the menace behind them.

He would have perhaps just snapped the phone shut, if not for Moz placing a warm hand on his shoulder in encouragement. Forcing himself to remember that he was _the_ Neal Caffrey, he took a deep breath.

"Traffic you know, it's a killer."

The low chuckle on the other end of the phone made his blood drop in temperature.

"So, did your keeper explain my…proposition to you?"

Taking another deep breath, Neal summoned up the con man in him.

"In detail. Peter isn't a problem, and I'm FBI and anklet free. Are you ready to listen to _my_ proposition?"

Silence ensued on both sides of the lines.

"Your proposition?" James eventually sneered.

Keeping his temper in check with the utmost effort, Neal bit his lip before relaying exactly what Moz had told him to say, keeping his voice as level and as indifferent as possible.

He waited for baited breath as James digested this information, watching Mozzie scribble the address of the abandoned lot on a piece of paper and placing it in his hand.

An eternity seemed to crawl by, then double back, and crawl by again as he waited for the man he now loathed to speak.

When he did, it made his skin positively crawl.

"You got an address for this place, or are FBI lapdogs just _brought_ here and there."

It had never been so difficult to maintain a con, but somehow, the kid pulled it off.

Relaying the address in calm, almost chipper tones, he agreed with the sperm donor on the other line to meet within exactly one hour, before snapping the cell shut and holding it away from him in disgust.

"Nicely done Neal" Mozzie said quietly, as he took the phone from the clammy hand and slid it into his pocket.

The younger man barely registered his head nodding, and tried to return his breathing back to a regular rhythm.

"We gotta go Neal, it will take up nearly the whole hour to get there" Mozzie instructed urgently, as he began to throw some things into a satchel.

Swallowing, the young man looked up and shook his head vehemently.

Before he could open his mouth, he was interjected.

"Don't even start with me kid" Mozzie warned, "I _am_ coming with you, I _know_ it's dangerous and I _know_ James is trigger happy" he patted the bag, "we're not going unprepared."

Shaking his head even more frantically, Neal tried again to speak, and was again cut off at the quick.

"Neal. I don't know how Peter has managed to keep you in line over the years, but whatever he does, it works. So do _not_ make me tell him that you went gallivanting off to meet an armed suspect with a vendetta on your own, ok?"

Neal Caffrey was speechless.

"You'd…" he spluttered, "You'd _rat_ on _me_ to a _fed?"_

Mozzie couldn't help but laugh.

"In any other circumstance, I would die before committing such treason with the man, and the establishment, but in _these_ circumstances, I'd sing like a canary, got it?"

Continuing to gape, Neal managed to nod.

"Good, now get up. We don't have to time to catch flies."

Somehow, the younger man managed to unfurl his legs and then everything went by in a blur.

They were outside, they were in a taxi, they were outside again, they were walking again.

Eventually, they came to an old, disused and abused diner. It was a ten minute walk to the nearest human point of contact, and it was secluded by dense, untended shrubbery.

Neal immediately saw why Mozzie picked the place.

Sitting down on the agreed upon bench, the kid shivered in the early morning air.

He hadn't really thought about _dress_ when he'd basically jumped out of his bedroom window.

He knew Mozzie was carefully secreted in a bush, completely invisible to the eye, the eccentric man's knowledge of the area being advantageous in the current situation, yet he never felt so alone.

Even the gun he knew Mozzie had carefully trained on him didn't help.

Before he could think any further, the soft purr of an engine tickled his ears.

An unremarkable, black saloon rolled slowly into the lot, its wheels crunching in the gravel.

Neal closed his eyes, and dropped his head for the split second he could afford to.

He was here.

When he raised his head once more, a different Neal looked out upon the lot.

The conman.

His chin had a defiant raise, his posture was confident and his eyes were focussed.

He could do this.

The man in the car was certainly no match for him.

After a moment of sitting and waiting, the driver's door swung open and the much loathed man stepped out, scanning his surroundings much like a curious child would.

Thrusting the door closed, his gaze focussed on an apparently unperturbed Neal.

His thin lips curling up into a calculating smile, he began to walk across the yard to the bench where the young man was perched.

Stopping short in front of Neal, he examined the boy for a moment who stared resolutely back at him.

"You really do have my looks boy."

With great difficulty, Neal ignored that grievous insult and held out his hand.

"No time for pleasantries, I'm already a wanted man. The tape."

The shrewd smile shone through again.

"Now now, what way is that to treat your old man?"

Neal extended his arm further.

"The tape."

James studied the kid for a moment, and then dropped the pretence.

"You get to hear it once, and then we move. You understand?"

Neal nodded.

"Don't dare misunderstand boy…I will shoot you with the slightest provocation" the fugitive warned, patting his hip where the bulge he rested on indicated the presence of a fairly small firearm.

Expecting to feel a wave of hurt, betrayal and shock at these words Neal was astonished to find he felt…nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

This was just another piece of filth, like countless others he'd experienced both pre and post FBI, that he'd encountered.

The bond he'd imagined, created and artfully fabricated between himself and the pot bellied man in front of him was but a mere delusion on his part.

He fought to remain outwardly neutral as this realisation flooded through him, but it was hard.

He felt so…free.

Free from the chains of being thought of as this man's son.

He was no more the son of James Bennett than he was the son of Nick Holden Senior.

"I understand" he returned coolly, "now, the tape?"

A moment passed as James studied the boy once more, before finally reaching into his pocket and retrieving the same recorder he had horrified Peter with mere hours ago.

Neal swooned slightly, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he was in the car with Peter and El, relaxing, having a great time.

It was the thought of the two of them in their happy marriage, and Moz in the bushes and Ellen, Kate…Sarah and everyone else he had cared about in his life that kept him in the con, kept him in play.

James moved a thumb over the play button, before Neal interjected.

"No" he instructed firmly, as he opened his palm and revealed his own recorder, "I have my own."

James took a step back.

"You think I'm stupid?" he snarled angrily.

Dearly wishing he could respond with a yes, Neal lied and shook his head in the negative.

"No, but I'm not stupid either. This reorder will tell me if the tape is the original, and if it's been copied. If it's _not_ the original and it _has_ been copied, there is no deal. I go to DC alone, and take my chances on the run with the profits. If it _is_ the original, the deal stands and I go free, and you get rich."

The wind picked up the pace as James stared…and stared some more.

Neal could practically hear the cogs turning in his boorish head as he thought manically.

"I don't have all day James" he informed the man almost pleasantly, "like I said, the feds will know by now that I've duped my anklet, and they're not going to be very happy. So, sitting out here in the open in the broad daylight isn't exactly ideal."

Apparently assessing the merits of this argument, the bully seemed to make a snap decision.

Pressing the eject button on his own reorder, he removed the small tape and taking a step forward thrust it into Neal's waiting hands.

"You get one listen, and that's it."

Biting his lip to keep from reacting to the irony of this, Neal nodded sombrely and carefully inserted the tape into his own recorder and carefully hit play.

Within seconds, his own inebriated voice filled the air.

Neal had to look away in disgust as he watched the sadistic pleasure cross James' face as he spoke.

How could he have been so stupid?

There was enough on this tape, in his own words no less, for him to end his days sharing a cell and eating processed filth.

On and on the tape ran, and Neal couldn't help but flush as his drunken indiscretion.

He flushed further at the end, where his voice became audibly constricted and the _thanked_ the lowlife in front of him for listening to him.

Pulling himself together, he carefully hit the stop button as Mozzie had instructed and felt his knee's shake with relief when the little red LED light turned from red, to blue.

This meant that the tape _had_ been the original and bore no copies. He held his breath for one millisecond longer and it expelled it in one great breath as the blue light then turned amber.

 _The tape had been successfully re recorded._

There was no more tape, no more hold….no nothing.

If he had had the privacy to do so, he would have vomited with the relief of it.

God bless Mozzie.

"Well?" James snapped, "are you satisfied? Can we get _going_ now, only, I have a boat to charter."

A brisk and brief silence ensued.

"I don't think you're going to be chartering any boats" Neal responded quietly, clutching the recording in his hand tightly.

"What?" Bennett snarled, instinctively reaching for his gun.

Neal didn't answer verbally.

Pressing play, he leant back on the bench and enjoyed the show.

James Bennett's voice was now the one that filled the air, recounting crime after crime he had committed in Chicago, each with a personal apology and words of remorseful regret.

Neal had to fight not to laugh as the man's face began to change colour.

As the tape drew to a close, and James accepted full responsibility for his crimes and assured all relevant personnel that he would not oppose the maximum punishment attaching to those crimes, the real life James Bennett was one missed heartbeat away from a full on cardiac arrest.

"You…you son of a bitch" he whispered, "you _son of a bitch."_

Neal couldn't help it.

He grinned.

"That's the trouble with confessions isn't it? They're _so_ unpredictable."

The sounds of the late rising birds began to sound as the two men stared at each other wordlessly.

Perhaps he should have been more prepared, it wasn't that surprising after all, but still…as Bennett's body crashed against his own, and a knife was pulled out of a waistband and against his throat, he was caught off guard somewhat.

Rolling in the gravel and feeling the stones pierce his back, Neal kept a desperate hold on the wrist that wielded the knife, trying valiantly to pull it away from the vital veins in his neck.

As the two did another flip over each other, Neal's eye's watered as James landed a searing punch in his gut.

He returned one of equal force and caught the older man squarely in the jaw, as he wondered wildly where Mozzie was.

The tip of the knife was once again making its way towards his neck as he desperately pulled it away, all the while keeping a frantic eye on the currently holstered gun.

He landed another punch, this time catching James firmly on the jaw.

The knife sailed out of the man's hand reflexively, and Neal took the opportunity to land another punch in his gut.

Wheezing, James reached for his gun, whilst the younger man frantically kicked against the strangle hold he had on his rib cage.

He couldn't get up from underneath him.

The cruel smile shone through again as James landed a successive series of five forceful punches into Neal's gut, before landing another searing blow just above his right eye.

He paused for just a moment, before punching another blow just above Neal's left eye.

The young man stopped kicking and bucking and lay still, winded and visually obscured by the blood that was gushing from his wounds into his eyes. Again and again he assaulted the head of the young man.

Taking just a moment to burst Neal's lip with another searing blow, James once again reached for his gun.

Resting his knee on the young man's chest, he steadied the firearm in his hands.

Pressing down on Neal's windpipe, he grinned a manic grin as the kid began to splutter through a face full of blood.

"You cost me my retirement package son" he crooned as he raised the gun higher, "that wasn't very nice now was it?"

Stars were beginning to appear in front of Neal's eyes as his brain protested against the screaming lack of oxygen.

"We could have been something amazing son, you and me. Guess it just wasn't meant to be" James murmured as he raised the gun higher still.

It was now pointing directly at Neal's forehead.

"Goodbye son."

Neal coughed a mouthful of blood, as he dimly saw the tightening finger on the trigger of the gun that was aimed at point blank range at his head.

This was it then.

He closed his eyes.

 _The bang was deafening._

 _Sickeningly so._

 _But…wait? If he was dead, how did he hear the bang?_

 _And why was he breathing easier…why was he breathing at all?_

 _He tried to open his eyes._

 _They fluttered in obedience._

 _But then…he couldn't be dead…._

 _But the bang…the bang had been so loud…so close…_

 _His eyes fluttered a little more._

 _It was bright…too bright._

Neal!

 _Why so loud? His head was throbbing, why was the voice so loud…?_

Neal… _Neal!_

 _Jeez…what? Is it too much to ask to die in peace these days?_

Come on Neal, open your eyes…open them Neal.

 _Alright, alright already…._

 _The bright blue eyes, externally tinged with ruby red blood finally opened in full._

"Neal…can you hear me? Can you talk?"

 _He smiled._

 _That sounded like Peter._

 _He hoped Peter would be ok, El too._

"No, Neal! Keep your eyes open for me!"

 _The lids fluttered again, but this time…this time the eyes made contact._

"Buddy…can you hear me?"

Neal flinched as his throbbing, abused head swooned.

Nevertheless he fought with his eyes, forced them into action.

As he trained them on the face of the man who he just registered was holding him in his arms, he scarcely believed what he was seeing.

"…Peter?"

The grip on him tightened.

"It's me son, it's me."

Neal forced his eyes to cooperate again.

"Peter…?"

The arms tightened further still.

"Buddy it's me, it's ok now…you're ok."

Neal smiled a sleepy smile as the effects of the many punches began to take a firmer hold.

"Guess…I guess it's 4 and 0 now huh?"

The tightening arms felt good as he drifted off into a brief, and blissful unconsciousness.

….

TBC

…

A/N: Please let me know what you all think, next chapter should be up soon. Also, this is quite a long chapter so my apologies, got a little bit carried away in my hatred for James.

Thanks for reading guys!


	15. Poison Fruit

The bed was so comfortable, so warm…so accommodating.

He could hear voices.

Two voices to be exact.

One familiar, one…not.

They were heated voices, an argument was raging somewhere above his head.

Something about passion…poison?

He didn't know.

He fluttered his eyes open.

He hoped that…prayed that he would be where he wanted to be.

Peeking through his dark lashes with a little more force, his stomach clenched.

The bed instantly became uncomfortable, cold and unaccommodating.

The sanitised odours that hung in that air suddenly seemed to assail his nostrils. His nose instinctively recoiled in disgust.

Why couldn't he keep his eyes open?

He fought, they fluttered, they dropped, and he fought again.

Maybe it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, maybe he wasn't there, he needed to see properly.

He'd take a deep breath. That would help.

Wait…?

Why couldn't he inhale?

He suddenly became aware of something foreign invading his windpipe, something hard…plastic. Something that shouldn't _be_ there.

Panic gripped him.

This wasn't right.

He tried to lift his arm, to alert someone to his consciousness.

Nothing.

What was…what was going on?

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

This had to be a bad dream.

He kept his eyes squeezed together, his only line of defence.

Bracing himself, he tried again.

He sent the signals to his arm, to move, to twitch, to _do_ something.

Nothing.

His heart began to bounce almost manically against his rib cage.

He tried his other arm, maybe…maybe his right arm was just a bit tired.

Nothing.

A blinding sense of unease began to spread throughout him.

A leg.

He'd try a leg.

He clenched his eyes tight once more.

He'd lift his leg, that would let them know he was awake.

Simple.

No problem.

He tried. He really tried.

Nothing.

Not a twitch, spasm or jerk. His leg remained completely stationary, mocking him, taunting him with its resolute stillness.

The panic was instantly upgraded to terror, as he frantically sent neurological signals to his other leg.

Nothing.

He needed to tell these people, tell these people that he couldn't…that he couldn't.

But how could he talk, there was that…thing, that thing where it didn't belong.

Wait…why wasn't he gagging on it?

Surely he should be gagging on it.

Gagging was loud, if he gagged, they would hear.

They would turn around.

They would help.

He tried.

He tried to invoke his most primal of bodily reflexes, he tried to excise this…invader from his wind pipe.

The trespasser stayed resolutely put, it incurred no resistance, not even a trickle of saliva tested its defences.

His heart was really beginning to pound.

It danced painfully off his ribs, its frantic beating telling the tale that he could not.

He was in trouble here.

The voices above him were getting louder, but oddly, they were fading at the same time.

He tried to peek through his eyes again.

They refused to cooperate with him.

But now… there _were_ pretty lights dancing in front of his closed, blue eyes.

The voices were getting pretty quiet now.

His heart hurt, it clenched and unclenched with an indecent force.

Why weren't they doing anything about that?

Ah well…the lights were getting brighter now, and his head was beginning to feel light and free.

He lay there for a while longer, how long he didn't know, how could he know?

The voices seemed far away now, like a radio turned down low in the background.

White noise.

Was that the sum total of his existence, white noise?

His heart was getting faster.

He was less concerned about that now though, he was suddenly very tired.

With his eyes fused shut, he might as well have a little nap.

The voices seemed like they were in the next room now.

He wondered briefly what they were saying.

It didn't matter really though he supposed.

The lights in front of his eyes twinkled comfortingly, like a particularly beautiful starry sky.

He'd always loved the stars.

He'd used to watch them…when he was a kid. When he used to tell himself that one day he would have a future as bright as they shone. He used to tell himself that when his mom was having a…bad day.

The voices sounded like they were under water now.

He watched the lights dancing bemusedly, they were getting brighter and brighter.

He lulled in their glow for a while, before…

Pain.

Searing, jolting, unearthly pain.

His heart wasn't dancing anymore.

He knew it wasn't dancing.

It wasn't dancing, it wasn't doing anything.

The voices were suddenly very loud.

Deafeningly so.

The lights were gone.

He missed them, they were soothing.

Then there were the hands.

Hands, all over him.

Prodding, pocking, jostling and turning.

His awareness was dropping.

He wanted the lights back.

He'd felt himself being pulled into a darkness.

That was good.

That was where the lights were before.

He heard a few words, before he faded into the darkness.

This voice…it was so familiar, he wanted the owner of that voice, but he also wanted the lights.

"Neal, Jesus…Neal!"

So familiar, so close.

"Damnit Neal, don't you dare!"

He wanted to obey, obey what he wasn't sure, but he couldn't.

The lights were back.

He followed them.

…..

TBC

….

A/N: Yeah so…I might have let the last chapter let you all think that all was well with our favourite.

Surprise!


	16. I Say YesYou Say No

Neal stared blankly ahead, trying his best to digest what was very gently being explained to him. Words so carefully chosen, that they shook with hesitation, and indecision. His emotions and his intellect struggled to coincide as Peter spoke to him very quietly, his hand resting loosely on his head as he stood over his hospital bed.

Realising that Peter had stopped talking, Neal blinked.

"So…he poisoned me?"

The agent closed his eyes wearily against the familiar anger that refused to stop burning inside him. How he wished he had aimed the gun higher…permanently removed the vermin that was James Bennett from Neal's life.

"The tape was coated with it Neal, you couldn't see it but… he was wearing high end flesh coloured gloves."

The young man nodded almost absentmindedly.

"So…the plan all along, was to kill me after I broke into the museum?"

Peter's head throbbed with tension as he nodded his head, trying his level best to remain calm.

"I'm afraid so buddy" he confirmed quietly, "when he handed over the tape to you, he was making sure that he was leaving no loose ends…he got the dosage wrong though, you would have never made it to DC with that much in your system…"

His voice broke despite himself, as he ran a hand through Neal's thick hair.

"I'm so sorry son."

The kid blinked, and tilted his head back, looking up studiously.

He found himself smiling. Not a beaming smile, by any stretch, but a natural smile nonetheless.

"No need to be sorry Peter. I can't say I'm surprised."

If Burke men were to routinely weep, there would be a puddle on the kid's bedspread. Sitting down on the edge of the bulky hospital trolley, Peter continued to card a hand through Neal's hair.

"You gave us all quite the scare buddy."

There were no words for a moment as Neal looked up at him with an odd expression on his face.

"Heart attack?" he eventually brought himself to ask, conjuring up memories of the searing, stabbing pain he had felt in his chest before he had melted into the welcoming darkness.

Peter's eyes closed in misery, as he shook his head.

"No son…not quite. Doctor's said it was some kind of severe angina attack, brought on and severely complicated by the poison that was still in your system. You're going to be just fine, and the attending says after you've been checked over once more, you can go home today."

His hand never left the kids head as he spoke.

Neal chewed his lip thoughtfully.

"I think I left my apartment keys at Moz's, and June is out of town, do you think you could call him and ask him to bring them over."

Peter racked almost amused eyes over the young man and chuckled.

Standing, he crossed the room quickly and opened the door.

El, June and Mozzie nearly fell over each other in their haste to enter, but with El fighting the other two off with a look that would stop a tiger in its tracks, she made it in first.

Neal squirmed as she landed kiss after kiss on his forehead, to the background of Peter's increased chuckling.

Eventually however, the agent decided to step in so Neal could gulp down some air, and gently prised his wife off of the now lipstick covered patient.

June was ready and waiting, and the minute El was prised up, she swept in to take her place.

A few strangled "I'm ok's" could be heard over the sound of her anxious fussing.

Seeing Neal's squirming increase again, Peter rolled his eyes and stepped in once again to make sure the kid could… _breathe._

He shot Mozzie a warning look as he gently steered June away, that clearly warned him to be careful with the kid.

For his part, the little guy obliged and sat on the edge of Neal's bed, the two of them communicating silently in…con speak, as Peter hushed and shushed the two agitated woman in the corner, and assured them over and over that Neal _wasn't_ hungry.

Eventually, a nurse shuffled into the room and shot Peter the sternest of glares at the flagrant violation of the "one visitor at a time" rule. Turning to Neal, she shot _him_ a much softer glare.

Peter rolled his eyes as Neal flashed his winning smile in response.

"Pick one person sweetie, I need to take your blood pressure again" she scolded gently, being one of many to take a serious shine to the very handsome young man.

Neal's eyes immediately found Peter's and he opened his mouth uncertainly, clearly afraid of offending any of the other three. El spared him this chore by deciding that they all needed to be fed, instantly no less, and pushed and poked Mozzie and June from the room.

The nurse quickly charted Neal's blood pressure, stating happily that it was well within normal limits before also sweeping from the room.

Resuming his perch on the bed, Peter looked down at the younger man fondly.

"You ready to get out of here buddy?"

Neal nodded instantly, a smile on his face.

"Yeah, I think I have some organic goose in my fridge with my name on it."

Peter laughed and shook his head, "oh no, you're not going home."

Neal paled immediately, and Peter's eyebrows shot up in concern. Before he could open his mouth however, a croaking version of the kid's voice rang around the room.

"Prison?"

Peter gaped.

"Prison?" he spluttered, "no Neal…no, why would you even say that?"

The wide blue eyes filled with uncertainty, as the boy picked nervously at his sheets.

"My anklet…my radius…everything" he mumbled quietly, feeling a familiar dread settle in his stomach at the thoughts of his life being snatched away yet again.

Peter reached out and rested a warm hand on Neal's shoulder, using his free hand to tip the kids head up gently.

"I've taken care of that. No one other than Jones or Dianna know you were anywhere that you weren't supposed to be."

It was Neal's turn to gape.

"You did?" he gasped, "but…but James…he'll scream everything from the rooftops."

Peter's gentle informing that he had had to shoot Bennett had only bothered him in the context that the man was expected to make a full recovery.

The agent shook his head once again.

"Oh no he won't…I've had a little _chat_ with him, and he seems much more inclined to turn in two wanted home invaders in Boston to cut a little time of his sentence."

Neal stared.

"But…but there'll be _questions_ Peter. Why were you there at all, how did you know Bennett would be there, how are you going to explain that away?"

Peter smiled fondly at the consternation staring back at him and increased his hold on Neal's shoulder.

"Calm down Neal. It's all taken care of. He's going away for at least the next fifty years, no matter what deal he makes. My side of the situation is secured; there'll be no further questions. As far as the FBI are concerned, this was a clean arrest and a solid collar. The right man will be in jail, that's all you need to be concerned about."

Had anyone else told him that he only needed to be concerned about a portion of the story, he'd have told them to go to hell. However, as he looked into Peter's eyes he knew he had nothing to worry about.

"So…no prison?" he murmured, in his last clarifying inquiry.

Peter chuckled.

"Nope, no prison" he confirmed happily, "unless of course you consider my house _prison?"_

Neal blinked.

"Your house?"

The older of the two rolled his eyes as he stood up and almost absentmindedly began carefully collecting the various bits and bobs that had appeared in the kid's room, and throwing them into an awaiting duffel bag.

"Well yeah Neal, my house. You honestly think El is going to let you go anywhere else?"

The patient stared at his handlers back silently.

"But you only make me stay at your place if I'm gro…uhh, if you're mad at me."

Peter bit his lip to hide the smile at Neal's damned adorableness.

Rounding on the kid with his toothbrush in his hand, he raised an eyebrow.

"And who say's I'm not mad at you?"

Neal's eyes instantly took on their well versed beagle puppy persona.

"A near death experience Peter" he began seriously, gesturing at the various beeping machines, "you can't be angry at a person who's just undergone a near death experience."

The elder man couldn't help but laugh at the sombre argument, and throwing the last few things in the duffel bag, he dropped back down onto the bed.

"You're right, I can't. I'm…I'm just so happy you're going to be ok. You scared the hell out of me."

Neal stared silently at the pained expression that shot across Peter's face.

"You are?" he mumbled quietly, a blush seeping across his face.

The agent nodded slowly, his eye's finding Neal's.

"I have never been so scared in my life, as I was when…when that damned machine went berserk. Never."

The young man's eyes widened as he took in the unusually open speech that fell out of the older man's mouth.

"M'sorry Peter" he offered quietly, once again finding his hospital sheets simply fascinating.

The agent shook his head immediately, and ruffled the patient's hair fondly.

"You're alive, and you're well. That's the main thing, that's the _only_ thing I care about right now."

Neal nodded, but inside…inside he was beginning to feel a little sick.

"So…so, I'm not in trouble?"

Peter chuckled and shook his head.

"All I care about is that you're here, breathing, and safe Neal. That's it."

Neal forced himself to smile at this, but inside his head was beginning to swoon as familiar insecurities began to assemble around him.

He cast around for a different question, and landed on what he considered to be the most obvious one.

"Mozzie called you, didn't he?"

Peter hesitated, torn between his firm belief that if he was truthful with the boy, he would eventually reciprocate and the desire to keep the kid calm.

"Neal…listen, he-"

"He did the right thing" Neal finished for him quietly, "I was in over my head."

Peter felt his jaw break away from the bonds of gravity.

"Thank you…for having my back."

The jaw dropped a little further.

Recovering, Peter's paternal instincts overpowered his emotional voids as he reached out and gently pulled the kid into his chest for a hug, breathing in his familiar scent with the same staggering relief that he just couldn't seem to get accustomed to.

He felt Neal's torso melt in his arms, and the relief grew.

The kid was going to be alright, he would make sure of it.

In the elder mans arms however, things weren't so rosy.

Breathing in the familiar smell of soap, Neal couldn't help but relax his body.

He felt safe now, here, in these arms. But he knew, he knew it couldn't last. He had dragged Peter into yet another explosively dangerous situation, he had disobeyed him when the man had gone through pains to teach him how to trust. He had let him down, and he would continue to let him down.

It's what he did.

What he always did.

He would later blame the medications that were still coursing through his blood, but at that moment he couldn't prevent the tears that sprang up in his eyes as Peter held him to him tightly, gently tousling his hair.

He couldn't keep hurting Peter, El…Mozzie and June.

He couldn't keep throwing their kindness and trust back in their faces.

He had put them all through hell. He had dragged Mozzie into a mess that wasn't his to clean up. He had let that animal cause June pain. He had made El _cry_ …

He didn't want to think about what he'd done to Peter, didn't want to imagine the look that would have crossed his face when he realised he was gone.

No wonder he couldn't be bothered correcting his behaviour anymore. He was an FBI agent, he could obviously see a lost cause when it danced right in front of his face.

The shaking of the elder man's head as he told him he wasn't in trouble, confirmed to Neal what he already knew.

All good things come to an end.

As much as he may hate Peter's firm handed discipline, he had always seen it for what it was.

That the man cared. Cared for him like a son.

But that was gone now, he would recuperate for a while at the Burke's at El's insistence, but he knew the man would do the same for Jones or Dianna.

This must have been the final straw for Peter. He had given up trying to make him a better person, and Neal couldn't help but agree with him.

He could see it now, as he sighed into Peter's chest, that this whole goddamned mess had been some kind of…divine intervention based…test.

And he had failed.

He had to go.

It was the only way.

….

TBC

…


	17. Pocketful of Worries

El fussed, tugging and pulling at the blankets on Neal's bed before it was deemed to be sufficiently clean and correct, to the rolling eyes of both the patient himself and her husband.

"El, hon…don't you think the bed is safe now?" Peter teased gently, and then recoiled instinctively as she turned and shot him a scathing glare, before turning to Neal who imitated Peter's self preservation.

"In you get sweetie, but mind your arms now…you know what the doctor said about all those injection marks."

Neal wisely suppressed the wise ass comment that instantly sprang to mind, and obediently placed himself delicately in the admittedly very comfortable bed.

"Now _rest_ for a few hours, and I'll wake you when dinner is ready ok?"

He opened his mouth to protest that he frankly wasn't tired, but Peter shook his head behind El's back and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Sure El" he managed weakly, "thanks."

Beaming, and gently mussing his hair, she proceeded to pull Peter from the room before he could object.

When the door gently snapped shut, and with the afternoon sun firmly shut out by his closed blinds, Neal looked around and sighed.

He had grown to pretty much take this room as his own, and…Peter and El as his own.

He sure was going to miss it.

Resting his head back against the fluffy pillows, he analysed every move and muscle Peter had twitched since he had regained consciousness. He was cordial, pleasant…caring. But Neal knew that he was being treated the same way as Jones or Dianna would be.

He knew that to Peter it just wasn't the same anymore.

Biting his lip, he guessed his inability to trust, no matter how hard the man tried, had been the final straw.

Looking up at the ceiling, he recalled the moment he had stealthily climbed from his bedroom window. The minute he'd decided that he couldn't depend on other people to get him out of the extraordinary mess he found himself in.

Forever self sufficient…and as he looked around the room once more, he realised, forever alone.

He had never really trusted Alex, or Sara…and look how that had turned out.

They were both gone.

He chuckled bitterly into the silent room as he recalled the one woman he had trusted as much as he had ever trusted a woman, nearly as much as he trusted Kate.

And she had turned out to be a raving lunatic.

Chewing his well worn lip once more, he turned on his side and pondered his next move. He couldn't exactly inflict himself on the two decent people downstairs for any longer than was strictly necessary.

With that miserable thought for company, he soon dozed off into a deep sleep.

Four hours later saw a gentle hand prodding his shoulder.

"Come on Neal, dinners on the table. Up you get buddy."

Neal smiled sleepily.

That sounded like how Peter used to talk to him…he fluttered his eyes open, and focussed them on the agent standing over his bed.

"C'mon Neal, up please."

The smile slipped off his face. That polite, pleasant tone was back.

Heaving himself out of the bed, he allowed himself to be steered downstairs and into the kitchen where the smell of El's speciality curry was floating the air.

His mouth watered despite himself.

Smiling his thanks as a ridiculously large helping was set in front of him, he instantly began digging in, thankful that at least the food hadn't changed.

He snuck furtive glances at Peter as he ate.

The elder man didn't _look_ any different, but he didn't tease Neal as they ate. Didn't needle him as he so often did in good humour. He was instead clinically polite and courteous, refusing to let Neal help with the clear up, instead sending him into the living room to rest some more.

Neal's head dropped slightly as he made his way into the familiar room, throwing himself down on the couch.

Did Peter not even want to be in the same room alone with him now?

When El cooked, he and the older agent did the dishes.

It was almost an unwritten rule.

He could hear murmured voices in the adjacent kitchen, deliberately kept down low.

His brow furrowed.

Were they talking about him?

About how long more they would have to put up with him?

Was Peter telling El that he wanted him to go, and El refusing?

His building bout of neurotic over thinking was interrupted as the husband and wife strolled into the living room.

El reached for her coat hanging on the banister, and slipped it on. Grabbing her handbag, she leant over to tousle Neal's hair.

"I'm just running to the store, I shouldn't be long ok?"

The young man nodded immediately, blushing that she felt the need to reassure him she wouldn't be gone for long.

Did she feel the difference between her husband and Neal as well?

His brow furrowed deeper.

With a peck to Peter's cheek, she was gone, leaving the two men alone.

Plucking up the remote, he leant back in the chair and flashed a calm smile.

"What do you wanna watch then? Your choice."

Torn from his reverie, Neal blinked and then murmured something about a live gallery opening.

Forcing himself to appear interested in this particular brand of torture, Peter nodded and flicked through the channels.

"You got it."

Soon, the overly animated voice of some commentator or other filled the room, and the two lapsed into a companionable silence.

Well Peter thought it was a companionable silence anyway.

To Neal, each moment that passed without the two's usual and natural banter was a series of stark endorsements on his own self fulfilling prophecy.

He fidgeted somewhat in his chair, completely oblivious to the program that would usually have earned his full and complete attention.

His blue eyes furtively took in snapshots of Peter's poise, his facial expressions.

Neutral.

That was the best diagnosis he could come up with.

He might as well have been some random undercover loan agent to the FBI for some kind of sting for all the interest Peter was showing in him.

Feeling a bout of panic rise up in him as the true realisation of having lost the…safety net that he had found with the Burkes being slowly yanked out from under him, he decided to take the plunge.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, whilst already feeling heat appear in his cheeks.

"Uhh…Peter?"

The older of the two instantly tilted his head back and smiled.

"Yeah Neal?"

It was now or never.

"Did you…uhm, in the hospital…did you mean what…what you said about me not being in trouble?"

Peter frowned, taking in the jittery stance of his charge and the stammering question he had asked.

"Yeah buddy" he murmured honestly, "You're not in trouble, it's ok. I understand why you did what you did, and it's ok. You don't have to worry about being in trouble, I promise."

Neal looked on quietly, as this registered in his brain.

After a moment, he licked his lips and spoke again.

"So…so, you're not uhh…going to punish me?"

Peter blinked.

" _No_ Neal" he repeated earnestly, wanting to make his point clear. "I'm _not_ going to punish you. I want you to stay in this house until I tell you otherwise, but that's it. Ok?"

His brown eyes roved the boy's face for some semblance of understanding, whilst battling his own feeling of guilt.

Was he so hard on this kid that he feared punishment for the most understandable of reactions?

There was a brief silence as the young man digested this and before he realised that Peter was stepping into agent mode, analysing every detail of his facial expressions.

Counteracting this by slipping into conman mode, he flashed his brilliant smile.

"Got it, Peter" he grinned, feeling sick, "I just wanted an ironclad answer, no take backs now."

The older man rolled his eyes, instantly relaxing a bit.

Maybe this was just the kid being the kid, always wheedling.

Heaving himself up, he went into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a bowl of caramel popcorn for Neal, his favourite.

It was accepted with another winning grin, and Peter rolled his eyes.

The silence that was companionable to Peter, and suffocating to Neal returned as the show twittered on and Neal's head buzzed heavier than before.

Throwing down the last mouthful of popcorn to the sound of El texting her husband to say she'd been delayed, he decided to just go to bed.

Putting on the pretence once more, he smiled broadly as he bid Peter a goodnight and made his way to his room.

Throwing himself down on his bed once more, he shook his head.

How many more times did he have to hear Peter tell him that he wasn't worth the effort of correcting his behavior any more before he just accepted it.

He knew that the jammer for his anklet probably still worked, Peter would most likely not have thought of it yet after all the upheaval.

He would wait until the Burkes were asleep, and have it deactivated by Mozzie.

He had a variety of options after that, and none he wanted to think about.

One step at a time.

He soon lulled himself into a misery induced sleep, and naturally woke at one am as he so often did.

Creeping to the door, he instantly caught the sounds of heavy, steady breathing.

They were fast asleep.

Hurriedly throwing a few things into a duffel bag, he sent a strained text to Mozzie.

Waiting patiently, he was rewarded ten minutes later when the light changed colours on the tracking device.

He deliberately ignored the series of worried texts streaming in from his worried friend about what he was up to, and took a deep breath.

He knew he couldn't go out the front door, Peter always locked it and removed the key.

He could pick it of course, but that would alert a nearby sleeping Satchmo.

Eying the window, he sighed.

Throwing the duffel over his shoulders, he gently prised the bottom pane upwards. Deftly jimmying himself upwards, he jumped with a cat like gate to the nearby tree, and gently shimmied down the ancient bark.

Just like last time.

Except this time, he knew there was no coming back.

Reaching the near end of the thick tree trunk, he poised himself for the obligatory jump over the flowerbed surrounding it.

It was the only tricky part of a tree born escape.

Holding on to the thick wood, he braced himself backwards and let gravity do the rest.

This time however, he misjudged gravity, and took the jump at too severe an angle to land without hurting his already battered torso.

Closing his eyes and waiting for the dull thud that would let him know that his chest had connected with the cold and darkness cloaked ground, they flew open in surprise when his fall was broken by a much _softer_ obstacle.

Opening his eyes, and aided by the street lights, Neal's heart stopped.

The air around seemed to vanish as he gaped, stammered and stuttered.

"Uhh…hey Peter" he squeaked, "fancy…fancy meeting you out here."

With narrowed eyes and an equally frantic heartbeat, Agent Burke pointed to his home.

The dangerously low and vibrating quality of his voice made the hair on the back of Neal's neck stand.

"Remember what I said…that I wasn't going to punish you?"

Neal nodded dumbly.

"Change of plans. Get in that house, _now."_

There was an audible gulping that seemed to contrast oddly with the calmness of the still night air.

"Peter, I-"

The growling that followed the gulping seemed just as oddly at odds.

" _Now."_

…

TBC

…

Thinking of bringing Jones in one of Neal's escapades. Yay or Nay?


	18. The Truth Talks

Peter paced in front an ashen Neal, agitation dancing on his face. Every time he turned to talk to the kid, words failed him, his mouth jammed shut, and he paced some more. For the ninth time, he willed himself to open his mouth, to get answers, but was interrupted.

And this time not by himself.

Stumbling into the living room in her dressing gown, El took in the scene in front of her in rapidly mounting confusion.

Not that she was _usually_ confused to see a guilty looking Neal on the couch and a furious looking Peter pacing in front of him. That scenario was relatively common, but she and her husband had gone to bed some hours ago and the kid had been fast asleep.

How could he cause trouble in his _sleep?_

"Peter?" she mumbled in confusion, her eyes raking Neal's body for any signs of injury.

"What's going on?"

The agent stared at his wife in dismay. She didn't need to be woken up in the middle of the night when she had an important work day looming in a few hours.

"Nothing hon, I've got it…go on back to bed."

Looking sceptically askance at the suggestion, she plopped herself down beside Neal who ducked his head away from her. Feeling her concern mounting, she placed a warm hand on his knee.

"Neal…sweetie, what's going on. Don't you feel well?"

Before the kid could answer, there was somewhat of an explosion that erupted from Peter's mouth.

"He won't be feeling well when I'm through with him, _that's_ for sure"

El turned a heavily frowning face to her husband and scowled.

"Peter!" she rebuked, "let Neal answer."

He shook his head in disbelief, and continued his irritated pacing.

No wonder the young man thought he could swing from the trees in the middle of the night, with all the coddling El did of him.

"Neal?"

The boy shot a tortured glance at both El and Peter, before burying his head in his hands and letting out a strangled groan.

The sounds of clear distress, in addition to the alarmed look on his wife's face, softened Peter's heart.

Stopping his pacing, he sat down on the other side of the kid and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright son, come on now. I'm sorry I yelled, ok? Just talk to me… what on earth is going on?"

The gentle tone elicited some response, and the dark head came up from the hands, but the gaze was still pinned on the floor.

Peter took in the pale and clammy quality of Neal's face, and felt his already high sense of alarm sky rocket.

There was something going on here, something seriously wrong.

He looked over at his wife for help, but her eyes were firmly fixed on the young man sandwiched in between the two of them.

"Neal…honey what's wrong?" she echoed, squeezing his knee.

When the boy didn't answer, she bit her lip, and debated frantically internally.

Drawing a deep breath, she knew it needed to be asked.

"Are you…sweetie are upset about your fa…about James?"

For the first time he looked her full in the face, a look of raw surprise etched on his handsome face.

"No" he blurted out instinctively, feeling the beginnings of a deep flush spreading across his cheeks. "It's not that…"

The husband and wife shot worried looks at each other, over the top of the tousled head.

"Then what is it Neal?" Peter cajoled quietly, "if you don't tell us buddy, we can't help. Come on now, just tell us what the matter is."

The dark head shook frantically, before promptly being dumped back into awaiting hands.

Peter's gut tightened as the obvious misery of his charge became more and more apparent.

He opened his mouth again, but was beaten to the punch. El reached out and gently prised away the hands covering the face, and tipped Neal's chin upwards.

"Neal…it's ok, whatever it is, it's ok…right Peter?"

The agent nodded his head immediately.

"Right."

Neal looked at the two of them studiously, his blue eyes not twinkling with their usual mischief, serving to tighten Peter's gut even further.

He stared for a moment, before seeming to come to a decision.

He took a deep breath, before nibbling on his lip for a moment as if struggling to find the correct words.

Definitely a first for Neal Caffrey.

Eventually though, his quiet and unsure voice began to waft around the room.

"It's just…I know that you don't…I mean, I know it's my own fault but…I just…"

He trailed off, beginning to blush in earnest as Peter and El stared in stupefied confusion.

"It's just what, Neal?" Peter prodded, recovering first.

Another gulping of air was forced down the windpipe of the kid, and he tried again.

"It's just…I know it's my fault that you don't…uhh, that you don't…"

Peter looked at his wife for help, but she looked just as confused as he did.

"That we don't what, Neal?" she prompted, squeezing his knee a little tighter.

The flush across the handsome face intensified alarmingly, as the kid licked his lips nervously.

He clenched his jaw and resolved to just get it over with, there was no way he was getting out of this house otherwise.

"Care anymore…about uhh, how I…how I uhm… act…or erm…about me in general…"

There was a deathly silence.

No one spoke, no one breathed with more force than was necessary, as this pronouncement was slowly digested.

Peter, for his part, had frankly never been more confused in his entire life.

El, on the other hand, had an expression of horrified realisation adorning her face, as Peter looked on in even _more_ confusion.

Why was he always the last to know?

"Oh _Neal"_ she eventually groaned, "is that what you _think_ honey?"

He looked at her miserably, and nodded his head, also miserably.

With that, she had him pulled into her arms, running a hand through his thick hair, murmuring quietly to him, so quietly that Peter couldn't hear what she was saying, but he could see Neal nodding and shaking his head in response.

He stared blankly.

What did he just miss?

What the hell was going on?

Seeing that Neal was visibly relaxing in his wife's arms, he refrained with great difficulty from interrupting to ascertain answers, but it was becoming harder by the minute.

Finally, when he could bear it no more, he cleared his throat.

The two looked at him in surprise, as if he had suddenly just appeared in the room from the chimney flute.

"Care to share?" he asked weakly, cursing his lack of omniscience.

Seeing that Neal was in no condition to repeat himself, El kept him clutched to her, and cleared her throat.

"Uhh…I think we may have made a mistake in how we handled Neal running off to deal with James on his own Peter."

If he was confused before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

"Huh?"

El rubbed her hand through Neal's hair before answering again.

"Well…what would you normally do if he had run off in the middle of the night, tampered with his anklet, and put himself in danger?"

Peter stared some more, before finding his voice, whilst wondering was it possible to actually _die_ from confusion.

"I'd…I'd, well I'd punish him… why?" he answered, a little defensively.

Before El could answer, Neal let out a little strangled groan of embarrassment, and El's attention was immediately diverted.

"Would you rather I explain this to Peter in the kitchen honey?" she asked gently, and the dark head instantly bobbed up and down.

Carefully excising the kid, she stood and jerked her head at her husband who followed numbly in her wake.

Closing the door behind him, he instantly rounded on her.

"El…what the hell is going on here?!"

She held up her hands and frowned at him in a clear instruction to keep his voice down.

"We screwed up, that's what!"

Peter rubbed a hand across his face in frustration.

"Could you please just tell me what is wrong with him?"

El grabbed three bottles from the fridge, sliding one across to him and uncapping one for herself, she sighed.

"When he needed stability the _most,_ we were inconsistent."

Peter blinked. Since when was his kitchen the impromptu Oprah studio?

She took a deep draught of water, and launched into the much coveted explanation.

"Neal… was nearly murdered by his own father Peter. That would be enough to send anyone into the deep end, but after everything he's been through…it made him need stability and security more than ever. He has that, here with us. We've always set boundaries, and he knows the consequences of stepping over the line."

She paused, and gulped down some more water.

"He associates that security with being _cared_ for Peter, he associates it with…well with being loved. Which is definitely something that…that _creature_ never did for him. So…so when he got through his injuries, when he was safe…he expected to be in trouble."

Another healthy dose of water was thrown down.

"We never really _explained_ why he wasn't in the hot seat. We were just so relieved he was ok and that he was safe, we didn't _think_ about how it looked to him. He was craving that security Peter, and we were too wrapped up in our own relief, that we never sat him down and explained to him _why_ he wasn't in trouble."

She picked at the label miserably.

"Because we didn't explain…he assumed that…that we were just giving up on him. That we just couldn't be _bothered_ to keep him in line anymore, he assumed…that we basically thought he was finally more trouble than he was worth."

Her voice was wavering dangerously on the brink of tears, as she continued.

"He left tonight…because of that. Because he thought he was just another employee to you now, and that he wasn't really wanted here….because he thought we didn't want _him."_

With that, El brought her explanation to a close, with tears threatening in her eyes as Peter stood rooted to the spot in shock.

His mind whirred under the weight of the onslaught of information that had just poured out his wife.

"That's why…" he eventually croaked, cursing himself for his obtuseness, his blindness.

"That's why what?" El asked quietly.

Peter threw her a tortured gaze before answering.

"He kept _asking_ me was he in trouble, and was I going to punish him…I just brushed it off, said no…and that's it."

He groaned in frustration.

"I'm such an idiot…I should have seen it...he was trying to _tell_ me for god's sake…"

El reached out and grasped his shoulder.

"It's ok…" she murmured "he's a complicated kid…"

Peter snorted despite himself.

"You got that right."

She smiled in answer, and somehow both of them knew that this would be ok. They could fix this.

"You know…I can't win" Peter suddenly lamented, staring at the counter top.

"If I punish him, he sulks and I'm the bad guy…I _don't_ punish him…and he goes all Prison Break on me."

El laughed instinctively, grateful for the levity.

"Come on…let's fix this."

Nodding, Peter grabbed Neal's water and followed his wife back into the living room, where the kid was curled up in a sad little ball that instantly pierced his heart.

El hung back, somehow knowing that this needed to be resolved between the two of them, and watched from the doorframe as Peter sat down beside the younger man and placed the water in front of him.

"Neal…buddy, look at me please."

No response, the kid remained stubbornly in the foetal position.

"Neal, sit up and look at me, right now please."

The slightly stern tone that crept into the older man's voice, garnered a response, and the boy unfurled himself and reluctantly made eye contact with him.

Peter took a deep breath, and tried to articulate these…these _emotions_ that he felt.

"I owe you an apology son" he began, holding up his hands as Neal opened his mouth to interrupt.

"I owe you an apology because I didn't really explain to you why I didn't roast your butt for running off after James in the middle of the night, but I will now, if you'll let me?"

The slight jerk of the dark head prompted him to continue.

"Neal…you've been through a lot, a lot more than most. When what happened with James, happened…I was… _we_ were just so relieved that you were ok, that you were going to pull through, that that was all that mattered to us. You could have pretty much done anything at that point, and all that mattered was that you were going to be _ok."_

He paused for breath.

"I know I'm generally pretty tough on you when you pull your capers…but that doesn't mean that there isn't room for discretion. The situation you were put in…it was horrific. It was something that no one should have to go through, and you acted on emotion rather than intellect. There's no one in this room that's innocent of that charge."

He paused for another breath.

" _That's_ why I didn't punish you kid…" his voice cracked slightly, "I thought…well I thought you'd damn well been through enough…"

The shocked expression that looked back at him tugged unmercifully on his heartstrings.

"I didn't let you off the hook because I don't care about you son…I let you off the hook because I care so _much_ about you…do you understand?"

There was a crushing silence as the young man digested this unusually emotionally forthright speech from the man beside him, and Peter waited with a varying degrees of panic whirring inside him.

What if he couldn't get the kid to understand?

He didn't even want to think about it.

Eventually, Neal broke the pressing silence.

"Really?"

The croaking, unsure and wavering tone had Peter reaching out and pulling the kid into his arms.

Pressing his face into his hair, he closed his eyes in relief.

"Yeah son… _really._ "

With that, the tension in the kid's torso broke, and he melted into Peter's arms.

"M'sorry" he mumbled into his chest, cursing himself for his stupidity.

He should have known that they would never do what he thought they had done.

Peter shook his head and sighed.

"It's ok buddy, it's ok…its understandable."

The kid twisted in his arms to look at El, who was wearing a warm smile on her face and felt moderately dizzy with relief.

"Sorry El" he repeated, honestly coating his words.

She strode across the room and ruffled his hair before throwing herself down in a nearby armchair.

"Just promise me that you'll _talk_ to us…if you ever feel that way again sweetie?"

He nodded his head instantly.

"I promise."

There was a silence as he snuggled into Peter's arms for a while more, revelling in the staggering relief that he was still as wanted as he'd ever been, that they weren't giving up on him…that he was still at home in this house.

"Neal?"

He looked up from the warmth of the man's arms.

"Yeah Peter?"

The elder man sighed, and squeezed him a little tighter.

"About _tonight's_ stunt…"

….

TBC

…


	19. Equation Equated

Holding on slightly tighter to the now vigorously squirming Neal, the final flurry of hard and deliberate swats fell from his hand atop the gleaming red backside. The squirming died down, as the already well seen to sit spots caught another dose of the hard, rhythmic hand. His charges hollering fizzled out into a sad weeping, and his job, that he loathed, was done.

Resting a hand on the kid's back with a depressing familiarity, he rubbed careful circles on the smooth skin, waiting for the young man to regain his composure.

His heart panged in sympathy for the tousled haired boy, and his gentle murmurings kicked up a notch.

It seemed like a lifetime ago since El had kissed both of them on the cheek, and went back up to bed, leaving Peter to deal with their wards escapades.

At his choice.

It had really only been about ten minutes.

"You learned your lesson buddy?" he asked gently, continued to rub a careful hand on his back.

A dramatic sniffle was his first answer, and he rolled his eyes fondly.

So very Neal.

The quiet "yes Peter" however, was sincere and his eyes closed in relief.

"…and you're going to have Mozzie over here first thing in the morning so we can _all_ see that the jammer he uses is broken?"

There was a slight pause.

Sighing, Peter laid down a relatively gentle swat on the still well presented backside and the kid hissed in protest.

"Yes… _yes_ I will" he quickly answered, already lamenting the loss of his wonderful get out of anklet free card.

Nodding encouragingly, even though Neal couldn't see, he patted his back reassuringly.

"Good lad."

With a final melodramatic sniffle and a hiss, the kid suddenly rose himself up off of Peter's knee, quickly pulling his jeans up as he went.

Standing up also, and ruffling his hair, Peter pulled into a hug which was heartily returned, before sidestepping him. Making his way into the kitchen, he had been left dire instructions by his wife to make sure the boy ate something before he went to bed for the _second_ time that night.

He had experience in these matters, and had quickly learned that El was quite a terrifying mother bear when it came to Neal.

He hurried a bit more, quickly popping milk in the microwave to warm and hunting for those damn fancy pastries he liked.

Finding a cinnamon token that would probably pass inspection, he finished heating the milk and headed back into the living room where Neal had taken up ginger residence on the couch.

"Here you go kid, get that into you" he instructed quietly, handing out the snack.

The blue eyes lit up and Peter chuckled.

From tears to grins in five seconds.

Throwing himself down beside the younger man, he leant back in the sofa and ran a hand over his face.

Tiredness lapped him, and as he glanced at the clock, he saw it was teetering on the three am mark.

He was getting too old for this.

Way too old.

His tiredness slipped away however as he spied the truly restful look in Neal's eyes, the relaxed poise as he sat, and the happy gulping of the milk in his hands.

It was rare to catch the famous Caffrey in complete relaxation, no façade, no outward image being carefully adhered to.

Just Neal…being Neal.

His tiredness slipped another jot when he realised that these moments were becoming more and more common as time meandered on. Well, maybe not in the office, but at home…at home the kid dropped the front, and just…was himself.

Not that he would admit it, but Peter loved happening into a room with his wife and Neal holed up in a corner over art books that he didn't pretend to understand, chatting animatedly about some… stick figure or other.

They complemented each other well, and he was acutely aware about how much El had grown attached to him.

Nostalgia engulfed him, as he sat in companionable silence with the kid, who winced every now and again as he shifted position. He felt a small smile play on his face as he remembered the day a much thinner, paler and closed off Neal had walked out of those prison gates.

If someone had told him _then…_ how much he would grow to care for the boy, he would have laughed in their faces.

He, like everyone else, had been taken in by the con.

That Neal Caffrey didn't need anything, anyone at any time.

Ever.

The small smile grew wider, as he expertly ignored the whining next to him that the cinnamon tasted off.

Neal often said thank you to him, to El…for everything they did for him. They always brushed it off as being their pleausre.

Neal probably thought it was because he was uncomfortable with emotional displays of affection.

But the real reason…the real reason, was much simpler.

It was because _he_ was the grateful one.

Over time, Neal had begun filling a void in him, that he frankly never knew existed.

He and El had tried for a child for years, his wife knowing how much he wanted a son or daughter. She also yearned for an addition to the Burke household…but, it just had never happened.

As much as Peter would have loved a daughter, he'd always wanted a son.

To be a father like his own father… to his own Burke offspring.

As he shot another side long glance at the now pretty sleepy looking Neal, who let out a small yelp as he turned in his seat, his smile grew larger still.

Who said…who said it had to be a child? Who said it had to be biologically _his_ child? His and El's flesh and blood?

As he instinctively reached out and gently pulled the now nearly asleep kid to him, he felt a ridiculous surge of contentment engulf him, as Neal willingly lolled against his chest, his eyelids drooping down.

Rubbing a gentle hand through the wild mop of hair, he knew that he couldn't care about _this_ kid anymore than if he and El had raised him from an infant.

Everyone had their own opinion, but as he felt Neal drift off to sleep in his arms, he finally decided on his own. One that he knew El shared without a second's equivocation.

Blood…it wasn't thicker than water.

Not even a little bit.

Not at all.

…

A/N: That's that guys! I've decided to leave this one here as I feel the quality's gone downhill in the last few chapters a bit. Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing and following etc. It's been a really fun write! This last chapter is shameless fluff!

…


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